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STORIES 



OF 



HOSPITAL AND CAMP. 



--\- 



BY^ 



Mrs. C. E. M c K A Y. 





PHILADELPHIA: 
CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGER, 

624, 626 & 628 MARKET STREET. 
1876. 



■ \\\5 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by 

CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGER, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



^^^ J. PAGAN & SON. ^^.ML 

/VjCK^ STEREOTYPE FOUiNDERS, KtSJA. 

^ ^^ PHILADELPHIA. rL<^ 

^ ^, ^< 



COLLINS, I'KINTKR. 



TO THE GREAT HOST OF WOMEN 

GOOD AND TRUE, 

Who, at their Homes or in Hospitals, Ren- 
dered Timely and Valuable Service 
to our Sick and Wounded 
Soldiers. 



INTRODUCTION. 



IT is now more than a decade of years since the close 
of that great conflict which, beyond anything else 
in the history of our country, tested our national char- 
acter, and by its results gave us a right to call this land 
a land of freedom. When we say that it was a stupen- 
dous struggle, which gave to every man, woman, and child 
in the country something to do and something to suffer, 
calling on each to renounce some pleasure and take up 
some burden, — to surrender the present, the personal, 
tangible good for advantages that were general and to 
some extent ideal, — our words do but faintly set forth 
the reality. 

The call was imperative, the stake nothing less than 
our national life, and the response equal to the grandeur 
of the crisis. Everywhere throughout the loyal States 
was set up the altar of sacrifice, and everywhere was that 
sacred altar glorified by gifts of what we held most pre- 
cious. 

But while we who live to see this day may rejoice if we, 
too, were privileged to lay some humble gift on the sacri- 
ficial altar, shall we be so recreant to honor, gratitude, and 



Vlll INTRODUCTION. 

love, as to forget those who gave themselves ? Who did 
not hold life itself too dear a thing to lay down, when 
rebellion threatened the dismemberment of our Republic. 
Who were not behind the martyrs of olden time in cour- 
age on the battle-field, patience and self-renunciation in 
fulfilling the new and hard duties of a soldier's life, for- 
titude under suffering, meekness and submission in the 
hour of death. Should we not often call to mind the 
bodily pains and perils, the mental anguish and bloody 
deaths, through which these grand souls wrought out for 
us a new national life ? And ought we not carefully to 
teach the children of the present generation, — charging 
them not to let their children or their children's chil- 
dren forget what it cost their fathers to leave to them a 
united country; and, to this end, gather up whatever 
may be within our reach that can render the impression 
more vivid and durable ? It is with a sense of this duty, 
and in the hope of preserving a few fragments of this 
most interesting though sorrowful history, that at this 
late hour I turn to some very inadequate notes of ser- 
vice in military hospitals, and, with such help as memory 
still affords, endeavor to make them worthy an humble 
place in the records of those eventful days. 

For the active campaign and the battle-field were not 
always the greatest hardships of a soldier's life. Even 
on the field of carnage, the perilous picket-line, and 
trenches, or in long and weary marches, there was that 



INTRODUCTION. IX 

within of hope, or that without of excitement, to nerve 
the arm and bear up the spirit to meet the crisis. But 
with what sinking of heart must a man who was yesterday- 
rejoicing in the glory of an active and adventurous career, 
find himself all of a sudden lying on the narrow bed of a 
hospital, maimed for life by the loss of a limb, or with 
the warm life-current ebbing away through a wound in 
some vital part ? It was here that the true spirit of the 
Christian martyr arose triumphant and faced, without 
blenching, the last enemy. Can the records of our Revo- 
lutionary Fathers show anything more heroic than this ? 
My story consists strictly of personal observations and 
experience, and is but an imperfect record of incidents 
connected with forty months' service in our military hos- 
pitals, during the period intervening between the early 
part of March, 1862, and July, 1865. 

Wakefield, Mass., April, 1876. 



CONTENTS. 



PART FIRST. 

CHAPTER I. PAGE 

Frederick City, Md 13 

CHAPTER H. 
In the Army of the Potomac 29 

CHAPTER HI. 
Chancellorsville 34 

CHAPTER IV. 
Gettysburg cq 

CHAPTER V. 
Mutations ty 

CHAPTER VI. 
Looking for the Fifth Corps 67 

CHAPTER VII. 
Winter-Quarters 70 

CHAPTER Vm. 
Cavalry Corps Hospital, City Point, Va. ... 91 

X 



CONTENTS. XI 

CHAPTER IX. 

PAGE 

The Fourth of April, 1865 127 

CHAPTER X. 

After the Surrender 136 

CHAPTER XI. 
Along the Lines 147 



PART SECOND. 

With the Freeumen 157 

CHAPTER I. 
My Angels 158 

CHAPTER II. 
Poplar Springs 165 

CHAPTER III. 

Domestic Relations of the Freedmen . . . .174 

CHAPTER IV. 
Relics of Barbarism 182 

CHAPTER V. 
A Day with the Freedmen 190 

CHAPTER VI. 

My Sabbath Morning Service 197 



Xll CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER VII. 

PAGE 

Letter to a Sabbath-School 202 

CHAPTER VIII. 
Aunt Becky's Troubles ....... 20S 

CHAPTER IX. 
Reunions 215 

CHAPTER X. 

Letters to Joel Cadbury, Esq 223 



Stories of Hospital and Camp. 



PART I. 



CHAPTER I. 

FREDERICK CITY, AID. 

HAVING heard, through the kindness of friends 
in Boston, that I might find work to do for 
our soldiers in the general hospitals in Baltimore, 
I went thither; but as my attention had already 
been directed to Frederick City, Md., as a place 
where nurses for the sick and wounded were much 
needed, and finding, when I reached Baltimore, 
that Mrs. Tyler, who, with great tact and skill, had 
or2:anized a band of nurses for the Camden Street 
Hospital, had just received a requisition for more 
nurses from the surgeon in charge of the hospital 
at Frederick — I preferred going there, and accord- 
ingly accompanied the steward of the hospital, then 
in Baltimore, on his return. The hospital at Fred- 
erick City consisted of two large stone buildings, 
erected as far back as the time of Washington, but 

2 13 



14 FREDERICK CITY. 

well preserved, and to these were added from time 
to time, as the number of patients increased, long 
wooden barracks, each of which would accommo- 
date about a hundred beds ; a row of fifty on each 
side, with a sufficiently wide walk between. 

Here, as in all other hospitals that I have seen, 
was much suffering, both physical and mental ; 
depression and discontent in some cases, patient 
endurance and gratitude in many, often mingled 
and relieved by touches of the grotesque and ludi- 
crous. 

On the 23d of March, 1862, occurred the battle of 
Winchester, Va., and our hospital was soon filled 
with wounded from the battle-field. Our first care 
for them was, sometimes before they were taken 
from the ambulances, to administer food and slightly 
stimulating drinks; then, when they had been washed, 
wounds dressed, hair combed, bloody and torn gar- 
ments replaced by others clean and whole, those 
who were not badly wounded, would sit up in their 
narrow beds, or walk about the wards, hobbling on 
crutches, or with their arms in slings, as the case 
might require — cheerful, sometimes jolly, often con- 
gratulating themselves that the case with them was 
no worse. They had not much objection to being 
complimented on their soldierly appearance, or to 
our expressions of admiration and gratitude for the 
bravery of our boys in blue. They never wearied 
of recounting incidents of the strife, and a willing 



FREDERICK CITY. 1$ 

listener would generally be surrounded by three or 
four at a time, each anxious to tell his own story. 
" I can't help thinking," said one, " of poor Jemmie. 
He was so badly wounded that we had to leave 
him in Winchester to die. When I said to him, 
* This is too bad, Jemmie,' he shook his head, and 
said, 'Yes, it is bad; but better so than that Stone- 
wall Jackson should have come into Winchester.' " 

A slender, boyish-looking little fellow, in de- 
scribing the manner in which he had escaped the 
watchful care of his mother that he might enlist, 
excused the apparent cruelty by saying that he 
always hated sceneses, and he knew if he told his 
mother, she would cry so that he could n't come. 
Poor boy! he little dreamed of the sceneses into 
which he was rushing. 

Among the good and intelligent soldiers who 
came to us at that time, were many worthy of espe- 
cial notice, but of these I will mention only one. 
A handsome young German, named Russell, be- 
longing to an Ohio regiment, was wounded in the 
arm. The wound had been carefully dressed, and 
there was hope of saving the arm, until, walking 
across the floor, he stumbled and fell with his great 
weight on the broken bone. The consequence was 
great inflammation and a necessity for amputation. 
For eleven weeks he lingered, at first doing well, 
but afterwards sinking until he was gone. During 
all this time he received the most assiduous care 



l6 FREDERICK CITY. 

from those in attendance in the hospital, and daily 
presents of delicacies from ladies in the town. He 
was always glad to hear portions of the Bible, or 
other religious books which were read to him, and, 
when near his end, the last rites of the Romish 
Church were administered by his favorite priest. 
Still he had been reticent, indicating only by a 
pleased, bright glance of the eye his appreciation 
of what was done for him. I was, therefore, the 
more affected when, just before he expired, seeing 
that he was making an effort to speak, and stoop- 
ing over him to catch his parting word, I heard 
him say, brokenly, 

" I want — I want — " 

" What do you want, Russell ?" I asked. 

" I want to tell you — what — what I will do for 
you — when I get — to another place — " 

The dying man, doubtless, had in mind some idea 
of intercession, as inculcated by his Church, and 
gathered up in these few words the whole sum of 
gratitude and affection which had so often beamed 
from his beautiful eyes. 

One Sunday, while superintending the distribu- 
tion of dinner in my ward, I heard footsteps coming 
down the long walk, and, looking up, saw the chief 
medical officer, preceded a little by a gentleman in 
citizen's dress, whose appearance at once riveted my 
attention. There was nothing very striking in his 
brown suit, white cravat, sallow complexion, heavy 



FREDERICK CITY. 1/ 

gray beard, and anxious expression;, and yet on the 
whole he was remarkable, and I stood looking at him 
as he passed down, his keen eye seeming to take in 
everything, especially the dinner that was being 
served out to our men, until, with a slight bow, he 
turned and passed out at the side door. 

" Do you know what strange gentleman inspected 
our hospital to-day?" I asked of a citizen friend 
whom I met as I walked across the hospital grounds. 

" Oh, yes ; that was Dr. George. He was a sur- 
geon in the Crimean war; owns a large plantation 
in Louisiana; very rich; a good Union man." 

A few weeks afterwards, when our hospital and 
town were occupied by the rebel army, I compared 
notes with one of their soldiers, and learned that this 
man was Stonewall Jackson. ** He often goes into 
your lines," they say, " in disguise, and so acquaints 
himself with what is going on in your army." Long 
after the war was over, the report of my rebel 
friend was confirmed by one of Stonewall Jackson's 
staff officers, Major Riley, whom I met as I was 
travelling in Virginia. He said that he was ac- 
quainted with the fact of General Jackson's visit to 
Frederick about three weeks before Lee's invasion 
of Maryland, and that he visited the hospitals, intro- 
ducing himself as Dr. George. 

As the summer passed away, we had frequent 
accessions of sick and wounded from various quar- 
ters, and a sharp contest was continually going on 

2* B 



l8 FREDERICK CITY. 

between those who were striving to save and the 
grim tyrant, who seemed always watching at the 
door, waiting an opportunity to lay his icy hand on 
some helpless victim. How often did it happen — as, 
indeed, it did through all my hospital life— that while 
some most severe case seemed to demand my special 
attention, another, perhaps on the very next bed, 
whom I would leave comfortable at night, would 
be gone in the morning. Looking for him I would 
find that his bed had been taken away, and did not 
need to ask why it was removed. 

Then there was the frequent departure of squads 
of soldiers pronounced well enough to rejoin their 
regiments. Going forth to a future so uncertain, 
we could not say farewell without the greatest in- 
terest and anxiety, and often the trembling voice 
and tearful eye, as they gave the parting hand, tes- 
tified their appreciation of our solicitude. Then 
tidings would come of some of these that they 
were shot in this or that battle. One such case I 
remember with great sorrow. It was of a young 
soldier who came to the hospital with a severe 
wound in the hand, and was at first very much de- 
pressed, and suffering from homesickness. He had 
no money, his wound was painful, he was lonely 
and distressed. I listened to his grievances, tried 
to imbue him with a more cheerful spirit and with 
a sense of the greatness and worthiness of the cause 
in which he suffered, and gave him money for the 



FREDERICK CITY. I9 

supply of his immediate wants. He at first de- 
clined to receive money, saying, " Perhaps you need 
it yourself as much as I do," and would accept it 
only after being assured that I could spare it with- 
out the slightest inconvenience. After a while he 
would come to my quarters, and, sitting through 
the summer evening, make free confession of his 
past sins, especially of his habit of swearing, which 
he said he had never dared to do at home. He 
had never uttered an oath in my hearing, but some 
of the men in his ward had told me that he was 
shockingly profane ; and I begged him to desist 
from that habit, and all others that would be defil- 
ing to his soul, and to seek from heaven help and 
strength to withstand the temptations of a soldier's 
life. " I do sometimes think," he said, " that I will 
try to do better; but the army is such a wicked 
place. You don't know how hard it is for a sol- 
dier to be good." So, wishing to be good, but still 
irresolute, he left us with a thirty days' furlough, at 
the expiration of which he was to report to his 
regiment. I heard nothing from him until, long 
afterwards, a soldier asked of me, — 

" Do you remember Gilbert, who was here last 
summer, wounded in the hand?" 

" Yes ; very well. Have you seen him ?" 

" Yes. I saw him after the battle of Antietam, 
dead on the field, shot through the head." 

Another, from whom I have never heard, and 



20 FREDERICK CITY. 

who, when he took my hand at parting, could hardly 
speak through his tears, said to me, " I used to 
swear ; but since I came to the army, I hear the 
boys swear so wicked that it disgusts me, and I 
mean to leave it off. I read my Bible now, and 
pray every day, and will try to live a good life." 

So we went on until after the battle of August 
30th, generally called the second battle of Bull 
Run, when we were astounded by the intelli- 
gence that Lee's army had crossed the Potomac 
into Maryland, and. was marching on Frederick 
City. 

As the town could not be defended, the citizens 
prepared to give him as silent a reception as possi- 
ble. The home guard was sent off, also every 
hospital patient who could walk to the outskirts of 
the town, where teams were seized to convey them 
to a safe distance. Large quantities of Government 
clothing, blankets, and other hospital stores were 
collected and burnt on the grounds. All through 
the town window-blinds were closed and the streets 
silent and deserted. In our hospital remained a 
few patients who could not be removed, and the 
medical officers with a few attendants and nurses. 
All through the long night of September 5th we 
watched and waited their coming with intense 
anxiety, wondering what would be our fate as pris- 
oners. At length, at ten o'clock on the morning of 
the 6th, we caught the gleam of bayonets on the 



FREDERICK CITY. 21 

eastern hill, and Stuart's cavalry, followed by Jack- 
son's infantry, entered the town. As they poured 
rather lazily along through Main Street, a miserable 
band, with cracked instruments, struck up " My 
Maryland!" but the music soon died away. A squad 
of horsemen from the van, dashed up into the hos- 
pital enclosure, wheeled around in front of one of the 
old stone buildings, and, presenting bayonets to a 
few medical officers, who stood leaning on the bal- 
cony, demanded, in the name of the Confederate 
States, the surrender of the post. 

During a brief delay in finding the chief medical 
officer, there was time for a short colloquy. 

" Our men must have been asleep to let you 
come into Maryland," said a hospital steward. 

•* Yes," replied a young rebel officer. " Many of 
them are sleeping at Bull Run ; more on the Pen- 
insula." 

Then the surrender was made, protection promised, 
and guards placed at the doors of every ward. A 
Virginia brigade marched in and bivouacked on the 
hospital grounds. As they filed past, we saw that 
each man had a watermelon on his shoulder, cap- 
tured from neighboring fields. They quickly seated 
themselves in squads and began to devour them, 
throwing the refuse about our nicely policed grounds. 
It was but the beginning of sorrows in that line, 
for before the week was out, the place, which before 
had been a model of neatness, was turned into a 



22 FREDERICK CITY. 

pen of filth. When at night I went to my lodgings, 
just outside the hospital grounds, as I stepped 
from the street into my sleeping-room, which was 
on the ground-floor, I was obliged to pass over the 
body of a rebel soldier, insensible from fatigue or 
liquor, another in the same condition was stretched 
along the pavement under my window, while a 
third stood sentinel in front. All through the 
night sleep was driven away by the continued tramp 
of troops, and the rumbling through the streets of 
artillery and army wagons. This continued with 
little cessation for two or three days, until the 
whole rebel army had passed through the town, 
and, as hour after hour I watched them from my 
window, the sight recalled to mind a little couplet 
which had been familiar in careless childhood : 

" Hark ! hark ! the dogs do bark, 
The beggars are coming to town," 

so ragged were they, so filthy and squalid in ap- 
pearance. Yet the events of the last few weeks 
had borne honorable testimony to their fighting 
abilities, and closer acquaintance proved that they 
were by no means ruffians. Seeing me at the open 
window, they would sometimes stop and ask hum- 
bly for food, and when I gave them what I had at 
hand, they received it very thankfully. When I 
went among them in our wards, of which they had 
taken possession, they willingly made way for me, 



FREDERICK CITY. 23 

and manifested the greatest gratitude for whatever 
I could supply for the relief of hunger, sickness, or 
wounds. In my own ward, which was constantly 
thronged with them, we held long conversations 
on the causes, progress, and probable termination 
of the war, and many of them I found to be good, 
intelligent, thoughtful men, having implicit faith in 
their cause, in God as their especial leader, and 
next to Him in Stonewall Jackson. It is true, they 
did us much damage — appropriating to themselves, 
without ceremony, the nice clothing and delicacies 
which were given in trust from Northern friends for 
our sick and wounded ; but when in leaving they 
kindly offered the parting hand, we could not with- 
hold a kind response. " I shake hands with you 
as a Christian, not as a rebel," I said to one who 
had made himself quite a favorite in the ward ; and 
many of them, in parting with our men, expressed 
the hope that it might never be their fortune to 
meet them on the battle-field. 

"Are you tired, soldier, after your long march?" 
I asked of one. 

"No, lady; I shall not be tired till we get to 
Philadelphia." 

" But do you know that many of you poor fellows 
will find a grave before you get to Philadelphia ? " 

" We expected nothing else when we left our 
wives and little children, and they are as dear to us 
as yours are to yon-alls'' 



24 FREDERICK CITY. 

" But you are caught in a nice trap, and we shall 
soon see you rushing out of town much faster than 
you came in," 

** Perhaps you have n't heard," said another, "how 
we fight the Yankees in Virginia ? " 

" No ; how is that ?" 

" We fire on them till our powder is all gone, 
then we break our muskets over their heads, and 
hurl at them fence-rails and rocks." 

" Very well ; our soldiers can fight with fence- 
rails and rocks as well as you, and you '11 have 
plenty of that sort of work between here and Phila- 
delphia." 

"Have you ever visited Richmond?" asked a 
gentlemanly young private. 

" No, and (unless captured by you rebels) I shall 
not be likely to have that pleasure until your city 
is again peacefully settled under the Stars and 
Stripes." 

" Then I venture a prediction. I predict you will 
never come." 

" I felt just as you do about the old flag, two 
years ago," said a rebel major, " but now I hate it, 
and was glad to see it trampled in the dust, as I 
did yesterday."^ Your army is whipped now, and 

* He referred to an outrage on our flag, committed by their sol- 
diers — tying it by the corners to their horses' tails, and dragging 
it, followed by a troop of shouting horsemen, through the streets, 
till it was trampled and torn into shreds. 



FREDERICK CITY. 2$ 

there is not one of you who does not know it. In 
a few weeks the Confederacy will be recognized by 
European powers ; General Lee is now on his way 
to Pennsylvania. In Philadelphia he will dictate 
his own terms of peace — " 

" But we have a great North behind us." 
" So have we a great South behind us." 
" But it seems to me not to become either party 
to boast just now. None but the Lord above knows 
how this strife will terminate." 

" We will soon let you know. We will not 
keep you in suspense more than three weeks at 
furthest." 

So, turning on his heel, he left us, with no power 
to controvert his assertions, for we were prisoners, 
and knew nothing of what was going on outside 
of our beleaguered city. Neither could we wonder 
at the confidence of our adversaries, for they were 
flushed with their late victories, and laden with 
spoils from the bodies of our slain soldiers. But, 
though not having much whereof to boast, we were 
hopeful, continually watching in the direction from 
whence we believed deliverance would soon come, 
and at the end of the sixth day our straining eyes 
detected dark masses and lines in the distance, 
which we knew were neither trees nor fences, be- 
cause they were in motion, and presently the dear 
old flag, never so precious as now, appeared, waving 
over our well-equipped and well-drilled troops. The 
3 



26 FREDERICK CITY. 

columns advanced over the hills. Now a line of 
skirmishers made their way through a cornfield, tore 
away the fence, and were in the hospital enclosure. 
We rushed to meet them, took them by the hand 
as brothers, invited them in, and set before them 
whatever we had at hand. They ate hastily, and 
had to go — they were under orders. 

Already the rebel troops had disappeared, and 
the haste with which they jostled and crowded on 
one another, as they skedaddled through the town, 
was pleasant to our eyes ; and then, when our 
splendid cavalry, the First Maine, made a charge 
with drawn sabres through the streets, there was 
only a small portion of their rear-guard, from Stu- 
art's cavalry, left to hold skirmish with our van. 
This was over in an hour or two, and then our mag- 
nificent army filled the town, coming in from vari- 
ous points — cavalry, infantry, artillery — until it was 
literally jammed. The citizens left their hiding 
places, and welcomed them with a frenzy of delight. 
Windows and doors were thrown open, joyful con- 
gratulations passed from one to another, flags, 
showing the stars and stripes, and the red, white, 
and blue, waved from the windows over the heads 
of the advancing columns. It was a grand moment, 
the significance of which no show of welcome or 
enthusiasm on our part could outdo, for, having 
released us from our imprisonment, they were press- 
ing; on to the fields of South Mountain and Antie- 



FREDERICK CITY. 2/ 

tarn, which many were soon to redden with their 
life blood. 

Then followed those fearful days and nights, dur- 
ing which the thunder of battle scarcely ceased, and 
our hospitals were crowded with the wounded of 
both armies, coming back to suffer, many to die. 
All the beautiful autumnal months were devoted to 
the care of these sufferers. In some cases the care- 
ful watcher and worker would be repaid by seeing 
a rapid convalescence, but more frequently pained 
to witness declining strength and eyes growing dim 
and tinged with a yellow hue, making it evident 
that Death had set his seal there, while the victims 
were wholly unaware of their approaching fate. 
The narrow hospital life, with its wearisome routine 
and petty exactions, was extremely irksome to 
convalescents. Many men in the ranks had re- 
fined and cultivated minds, others had bold and 
adventurous natures, and to them the restrictions of 
the hospital were a greater hardship than the active 
campaign, and they came to look upon themselves as 
prisoners, and the regulations, to which they were 
obliged to submit, as unjust. Their present sur- 
roundings were distasteful, the future looked dark 
and unpromising. What wonder, if the air was at 
times rife with complaints, and a word of cheer 
seemed almost a mockery. Often, when surrounded 
by these scenes and similar ones in other hospitals, 
bewildered and almost despairing at the sight of 



2S FREDERICK CITY. 

woes to which I could bring only slight alleviation, 
I would, as a last effort, strive to inspire these sink- 
ing hearts with the hope that out of the present 
darkness and distress God would bring some bless- 
ing to our country and our race so grand, so far be- 
yond our present comprehension, that we, behold- 
ing it in the future, would be satisfied. 

But for the sufferers in the Frederick City hospi- 
tals there was one source of comfort which they 
can never forget — the visits of the warm-hearted, 
loyal, generous women who daily came in bands, 
bringing and distributing through the wards their 
gifts of delicacies to tempt the appetite, reading 
matter, paper and envelopes, always with such words 
of cheer, comfort, praise, and gratitude, that faint- 
ing hearts were reassured, and to die for one's 
country seemed, in their presence, "sweet and de- 
corous," 



CHAPTER II. 

IN THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 

THE first battle of Fredericksburg was fought 
in December, 1862. Wounded men in great 
numbers were brought to Washington. Many of 
the churches and Government buildings in Wash- 
ington, Georgetown, and Alexandria were turned 
into hospitals, and new hospitals were established 
in the environs of the city. Who that saw the 
Patent Office at that time will ever forget its great 
halls and corridors filled with rows of pale-faced 
sufferers, while there again the gloom was relieved 
by the presence of faithful, true-hearted women. 
Having spent December and a part of January in 
desultory work and visits in these hospitals, my 
steps were led to the Army of the Potomac. It 
was difficult at that time for non-combatants of 
either sex to obtain passes to the front, but after 
much delay and intercession I succeeded. My pass, 
from the War Department, was dated January 12th, 
1863, and gave me permission to go to the Army 
of the Potomac with supplies for sick and wounded. 
I was accompanied and assisted during my first 
month in the field-hospitals by my friend. Miss 
Harriet Sharpless, of Pennsylvania, whose good 
3* 29 



30 IN THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 

work for the soldiers there and in other places is 
too well known to need any mention of mine. We 
went by steamboat to Aquia Creek, and thence by 
rail to Falmouth, opposite Fredericksburg, on the 
Rappahannock. 

All along the river for miles stretched the white 
camps of our army, in their winter-quarters ; but 
among them all I sought out those of the First 
Division, Third Corps, then the Third Brigade, and 
Seventeenth Maine regiment, because in the latter 
were a brother and several other friends, by whose 
request I had come to this new field of labor. 

A tent belonging to Major West, who was absent 
at the time, was appropriated to our use. Colonel 
Roberts, of Portland, was in command of the regi- 
ment at that time, and from him and the surgeon, 
Dr. Wiggin, and the other officers, we received a 
cordial welcome, and the best of such accommoda- 
tions as their camp afforded, and here we were 
speedily initiated into camp-life and work in field- 
hospitals. 

Hitherto the sick and wounded of the army of 
the Potomac had been sent to the Washington 
hospitals, but the experiment of field-hospitals was 
now to be tried, and that of the First Division, 
Third Corps — General D. B. Birney's — was just 
being established. The establishment of a field- 
hospital consisted in pitching a number of tents in 
a row or rows, according to the number of patients, 



IN THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 3I 

bringing the latter from their own more narrow- 
quarters in their little shelter tents, and laying them 
on the army blankets, which had been spread on 
the ground. Then men from the ranks were de- 
tailed as attendants, and for such nursing as soldiers 
could give. 

A favorable position had been chosen for our 
division hospital. It was on high ground, and near 
a house which furnished lodgings for medical officers 
and lady nurses. It commanded a fine view of Fred- 
ericksburg, on the opposite side of the Rappahannock, 
and near at hand were the Lacy house and Phillip's 
house, the latter of which we regretted to see in 
flames not long after our arrival. General Lee's 
army was encamped on the hills around Fredericks- 
burg. The river being narrow, the soldiers of the 
two armies, picketed along the opposite banks, could 
easily exchange words, and sometimes in riding 
along the river in my ambulance I would stop and 
listen to their questions and replies. 

On our first visit to the hospital, we found men 
in burning fevers, or with rheumatism, dysentery, 
or frozen limbs, lying on the ground, with no nour- 
ishment but the common soldier's ration of hard- 
tack and coffee, or, as a special luxury, beans baked 
with pork. Here, indeed, was need enough of work 
and supplies. The hospital could afford us nothing 
in the way of cooking utensils. We were welcome, 
however, to the use of the large kitchen fire-place 



32 IN THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 

in the house where we lodged, and an obliging 
colored woman, who was faithfully serving her old 
master, the owner of the house, kindly lent for our 
use a little iron boiler. In this, with the help of a 
few simple utensils we had brought from Washing- 
ton, and the tin cans which had contained preserved 
fruit and meats, we were soon able to prepare pud- 
dings of corn-starch and farina, gruel, tea, chocolate, 
soup, beef-tea, and wine jelly, which, with good 
bread and butter, and our canned fruit, were a great 
help to our sick soldiers. By degrees our hospital 
improved, and assumed a comfortable, even cheerful 
appearance. The doctors were pleased with our 
efforts, and gave us every facility in their power. 
General Birney, at our request, sent large details of 
men into the woods to cut poles for bunks, until all 
our patients were raised from the ground, and placed 
on beds of straw, covered with blankets. This was 
indeed a step in the right direction, and none who 
were at that time inmates of our hospital, can ever 
forget Mrs. Birney's visits, her untiring efforts for 
the comfort of the men, and the cheer and encour- 
agement that her sweet presence and generous gifts 
afforded. It was also through General Birney's 
kindness that I was after a while furnished with a 
nice cooking-stove, which was brought up from 
Aquia Creek, and installed in its place with great 
rejoicing, Mrs. Birney assisting at the important 
ceremony. Large quantities of supplies were fur- 



IN THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 33 

nished by the Sanitary Commission, valuable boxes 

were sent from friends at the North, and also from 

friends of the Birneys, in Philadelphia, and our 

special diet table soon showed an extensive variety. 

In the spring the army was re-organized, camps 

were changed, and our division, with its hospital, 

was removed to Potomac Creek, four or five miles 

from Falmouth 

C 



CHAPTER III. 

CHANCE LL ORS VILLE. 

WITH the first of May came the battle of 
Chancellorsville. This was ten or twelve 
miles from our hospital on Potomac Creek, on the 
south side of the Rappahannock. At an early hour 
on Sunday morning, May 3d, I left the hospital and 
went out towards the battle-field, my ambulance 
well loaded with sanitary supplies, and a young 
soldier from the hospital for an assistant. Never 
can I forget that morning. The fearful roar of ar- 
tillery, which had scarcely been interrupted since 
daylight ; the clear shining of the sun in the lovely 
spring morning; our way, partly through deserted 
camps — those rude homes whence so many noble 
souls had just gone out, even then many of them 
lying dead on the battle-field; long trains of army 
wagons moving slowly towards the front ; couriers 
rushing back and forth. A mounted patrol dashed 
up to us and demanded a halt, but dismissed us po- 
litely when he learned our purpose. Just across the 
river on our left the conflict was raging, in which 
the gallant Sedgwick, with his Sixth Corps, was 
contesting the heights of Fredericksburg. As we 
drew nearer to United States Ford, over which our 
army crossed on their pontoon bridges, we met 

34 



CHANCELLORSVILLE. 35 

squads of soldiers slightly wounded making their 
way back to camp. They told us of this and of 
that comrade or officer killed or wounded, among 
the latter the brave General Berry, of our own 
corps, whose lifeless body was being borne back 
to Falmouth ; and General Whipple mortally 
wounded; also that the Eleventh Corps had "shown 
the white feather." 

Just before we reached the river was a small 
house, that had been taken for an hospital. Horses 
were picketed around it in all directions; quarter- 
masters' wagons, with their tents near by; a throng 
of soldiers coming and going. 

Finding many wounded men lying in and around 
the house, I immediately commenced the distribu- 
tion of stimulants and nourishment. Milk punch 
and crackers were given to all who could take them. 
Tea, chocolate, coffee, and beef-soup were prepared 
and given, not only to the wounded, but to others, 
officers and privates, many of whom had had noth- 
ing but a bit of hard-tack for the day. 

A young lieutenant, lying on the floor with an 
amputated arm, attracted my attention. His over- 
coat was folded under his head for a pillow, his 
sword lay near, his eyes were closed, and he was 
so pale from the loss of blood that I at first thought 
he was dead; but when I put a spoonful of stimulant 
to his lips he swallowed it, and, opening his lips, 
asked, faintly, — 



36 CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

"Are you from Philadelphia?" 

"No; why do you ask?" 

" Because you are so kind." 

" Do all the kind people live in Philadelphia?" 

" No," he said, his poor, pale face relaxing with 
a smile, and, closing his eyes again, he murmured, 
" mother ! " 

I fed him occasionally until he was quite re- 
vived, and when I could no longer do so myself, 
begged a guard who was off duty to attend to him, 
and left in his care some nourishment for him. 
He begged me to stay with him through the night, 
and I would gladly have done so if possible. I did 
not learn his name or his regiment, but I never 
think of Chancellorsville without recalling his pale, 
sweet face, and wishing to. know what became of 
him. Other cases, equally or more distressing, re- 
quired attention ; and so passed the time till late in 
the night, when Dr. Dexter, corps inspector, came 
to me and said that he had been ordered to take 
charge of the wounded of our corps on the south 
side of the river, and asked if I would go over. It 
happened that the chief quartermaster of the post 
belonged to our division, and he had sent word to 
me as soon as I arrived, that I should call on him 
for anything in his power to do for me. I therefore 
sent to him immediately requesting a pass to Chan- 
cellorsville, which he readily gave, and in a few 
moments I was in my ambulance, leaving one scene 
of suffering for another still more terrible. 



CHANCELLORSVILLE. 37 

The way was difficult to find at night. Now we 
were entangled in a thicket, and again blockaded by 
heavy army wagons. In going down a steep hill, 
my driver lost his balance, and was thrown from his 
seat. Perhaps he had indulged a little too freely 
in the milk punch he had been helping to adminis- 
ter to the wounded. He recovered his seat, but lost 
control of the horses, and they were brought up by 
a train of wagons. It was nearly midnight when we 
got to the pontoon bridge across the Rappahannock, 
lying so smooth and white in the clear moonlight. 
At length, about three miles from the river, we found 
the large brick house to which the wounded of the 
Third Corps were brought from the battle-field. As 
we approached we saw that wounded men were lying 
all along by the fences, all through the grounds, 
some under the little white tents, but more under 
the open heaven. They were on the piazza, under 
the piazza, in the cellar, through the halls, in all the 
rooms above and below, while cries and groans broke 
out where the agony was too great to be repressed. 
Some stimulants were given out, and a closet, not 
large enough for a man to stretch himself in, an- 
swered for my store-room and dormitory. Early 
in the morning the work of administering food and 
stimulants began, and went on as rapidly as possi- 
ble all day. 

We were within three miles of the front line of 
battle, and could see artillery posted in various direc- 
4 



I 



38 CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

tions. Colonel CoUis, of the 1 14th Pennsylvania 
regiment, was at the hospital, and told me how fear- 
fully his regiment had suffered in the fight. 

*' I hope my friend Captain Elliot is not hurt." 

" Captain Elliot is dead." 

As I uttered an exclamation of grief and horror, 
another officer, standing by, asks: 

"Is not Lieutenant Johnson, of the 17th Maine, 
your brother ? " 

" Yes; have you seen him ? " 

" I fear you have to hear bad news of him." 

I felt myself growing faint, but asked, 

" Is he wounded? " 

" Wounded, but not brought in." 

This was equivalent to saying he was dead or 
taken prisoner ; yet I could not at once receive the 
terrible truth, for his parting kiss seemed still warm 
on my lips, but before night I knew that he was dead. 

Corporal Whitcomb, of his company, reported : 
** Lieutenant Johnson was in command of our com- 
pany, and leading it in a charge around the brick 
house. As the company was falling back, I saw that 
he was struck, and caught him in my arms as he was 
falling. He rested a moment, supporting himself 
with one knee on the ground. 'Are you hurt, 
Lieutenant?' I asked. He opened his shirt bosom, 
and said, * Yes ; it has gone through me. Give me 
water.' Before I could get the canteen to his lips, 
he was gone. Our regiment was moving so fast 



CHANCELLORSVILLE. 39 

that I could not get help to carry him off, and was 
obliged to leave him, and run to save myself from 
being taken prisoner." 

Efforts were made to recover the body, but he fell, 
shot through the heart, as the division was falling 
back, and the ground was in possession of the enemy. 
" We hope to recover the ground to-morrow," said 
the commanding general, in answer to a request for 
a flag of truce, " and then every effort shall be 
made to recover the body of Lieutenant Johnson." 
But the ground was never recovered, and his dust 
mingles with that of thousands who lie in nameless 
graves on that fatal field. 

Officers were constantly coming in, who reported 
all things favorable to our side. "To-morrow there 
will be a great battle ; we shall have a victory, and 
then go on to Richmond." But to-morrow comes, 
and no sound of battle. What can it mean? The 
silence is now more portentous and perplexing than 
would be the roar of artillery. An order came to 
send off the wounded men, which, we supposed, 
was preparatory to fresh arrivals from the coming 
battle. I was just giving directions for having the 
floors cleansed from stains and pools of blood, when 
Dr. Harris, of the Sanitary Commission, came in, 
and, calling me aside, told me that I had better be in 
readiness to move at a moment's notice, as the artil- 
lery was changing position, and there was a probabil- 
ity that the house where we were might be shelled. 



40 CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

I immediately began to pack up my remnants of 
supplies, when I heard Dr. Dexter call for my am- 
bulance driver, and order him to " load up and be 
off with me as fast as possible, for the house would 
be riddled with shells in fifteen minutes." So my 
ambulance was reloaded, with the addition of two of 
our wounded boys, the pontoon bridge re-crossed, 
the hospital on the northern side regained. There, 
for the first time, I learned the sorrowful fact that 
the battle of Chancellorsville was a failure ; that the 
whole army was falling back, that by to-morrow 
night we should all be in the old camp again. 

Not all ! 

Here again I found crowds of wounded men lying 
on the ground, suffering terrible agonies under the 
hot sun, from which there was no shelter. I had 
yet in my ambulance food and stimulants, which I 
lost no time in distributing. I found other women 
at work here — Mrs. Fogg, Mrs. Eaton, Mrs. Hus- 
band; but since I left this place for the hospital at 
Chancellorsville, I had not seen a woman, and did 
not know that any other woman crossed the river 
at this place while our forces were on the south 
side, excepting " Mary," the vivandiere of the 114th 
P. v., who was a brave and faithful worker. 

Here also was one of General Sickles' staff offi- 
cers. Captain Young, waiting anxiously for orders 
to move his wagon train, and from him I learned 
the terrible tidings that we had lost the battle. 



CHANCELLORSVILLE. 4I 

"You have no time to lose in getting back to 
camp," said he. ** The trains will soon be in mo- 
tion, and then you may find it impossible to get 
along." One of the wounded soldiers who had 
come with me from Chancellorsville, a bright young 
lad from a New Jersey regiment, had remained in 
the ambulance while I had been at work, and 
begged to go on with me, " because it hurt him so 
much to move." 

Up to that time the weather had been fair and 
bright, but just as I stepped into the ambulance, 
heavy rain clouds came up, and a few drops of rain 
fell. Then came on a furious rain storm. In a few 
hours the country was flooded. Creeks were swol- 
len and bridges swept away. The blackest night fell 
upon us. Wagon trains blocked our way, What 
was to be done? Should we stop where we were till 
morning, or try to make our way a little farther ? 
With the greatest difficulty we crossed the railroad, 
and gained the white house near " Stoneman's 
switch," which General Whipple had lately occu- 
pied as head-quarters, but to which he would never 
return. The house was destitute of furniture and 
unoccupied, save by a kw men who belonged to 
the headquarters. In one of the chambers was a 
fire-place, where, with a few stray bits of wood, a 
fire was made, and our wounded boy was brought 
up and laid carefully by the side of it. A little 
coffee was made, which, with a few crackers, served 



42 CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

for supper. My soldier attendant was soon asleep 
on the floor, and after awhile I too wrapped myself 
in my water-proof, and rested on the floor till 
morning. Then we made our slow way towards 
Potomac Creek. Long trains of ambulances, hav- 
ing been out all night with their loads oT wounded 
men, came up. The creek was swollen to the di- 
mensions of a river, and the bridge on which we 
had crossed when we went out was swept away. 
We had to wait until it was rebuilt, but that was 
only a few hours. I went into the hut of a colored 
woman, who kindly let me use her fire, and pre- 
pared warm drinks, which, with crackers, were sent 
to the poor wounded fellows in the ambulances. 
Just as my own supply was exhausted, Mr. Fay, of 
the Sanitary Commission, brought in a new supply, 
with which he had contrived to cross the creek to 
us. Never were such supplies more important, for 
these men, with their wounds and amputated limbs, 
had been jostled over the rough roads all night in 
the ambulances, and had not tasted food since they 
left Chancellorsville. There were plenty of soldiers, 
all ready to lend a helping hand, also the vivandiere 
before mentioned, and the work went on cheerfully, 
though there was a great burden at our hearts. 

Through all this a vague terror of something still 
more fearful lay like a dark shadow on my thought. 
Our army was falling back. That grand Army of 
the Potomac, which only a few weeks before we 



CHANCELLORSVILLE. 43 

beheld passing in review before President Lincoln 
and his generals, was defeated. What if the enemy, 
flushed with success, had gathered up his forces, 
crossed the river, and hurled them on our stunned 
and demoralized troops ? Surely it could have been 
done. At length the bridge was ready, and we 
crossed the creek, the trains of ambulances follow- 
ing, and among those who came out to bring nour- 
ishment to the wounded, was sweet Helen Gilson, 
who had just returned from Fredericksburg, where 
she had been ministering to the wounded of Sedg- 
wick's corps. Our hospital had been greatly en- 
larged since we left. The hills around were covered 
with the white tents of our Third Corps hospital, 
while those of the Sixth, Second, and Eleventh 
were within an area of five or six miles. 

Going through the tents, a few days after the 
battle, I was surprised to see an elderly man whom 
I had often noticed lying in one of the halls at the 
brick house at Chancellorsville. He had been 
wounded through the chest, mortally, and I had 
not thought he could survive so long. His cloth- 
ing, torn and stiffened with blood, had been re- 
moved, and in his clean clothes and comfortable 
bed, I did not at first recognize him. As his eye 
met mine, a sweet smile of recognition displaced 
for a moment the settled agony of his features. I 
took his outstretched hand and asked, " How are 
you? " 



44 CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

" Going fast." 

" I trust, my poor friend, that you find yourself 
sustained and comforted in your sufferings by the 
hope of a better life to come ? " 

" Oh, yes," he said. " I have not neglected that. 
I have not been forgetful of my God, and now I 
know that he is with me." 

He spoke with difficulty, but the smile was beau- 
tiful. 

Late in the evening, one of the doctors came to 
my tent, and asked me to prepare a stimulating 
drink for a man who was fast dying of his wounds. 
I prepared the drink, and went with the doctor to 
see if anything further could be done. Making 
our way through lines of tents filled with the 
wounded and dying, we at last found the one we 
were in search of But as soon as the doctor looked 
in he stepped back, and, closing the flap of the tent 
said, " You must not go in here. The man cannot 
live but a few hours; you can do nothing for him; 
and the stench from his wounds is so dreadful that 
you could scarcely breathe." I would not argue 
the matter with the doctor, but left word that the 
nurse — a soldier detailed to that duty — should 
come to my tent for something needed, and re- 
turned with him, hoping to say some word of cheer 
and comfort to the departing soul. His poor body 
was mutilated beyond the reach of surgical aid, but 
his mind was clear, his faith in the saving power 



CHANCELLORSVILLE. 45 

of his Almighty Friend unclouded, and the dark 
valley just at hand had no terrors for him. After 
talking with him a little, I took his pale, cold hand, 
on which, as well as on his forehead, the death 
dews were already gathering, and kneeling by the 
narrow bunk, commended, as well as I could, the 
parting soul to the great deliverer from pain and 
woe. I felt that the heavenly convoy was in wait- 
ing, and that the place so poor to mortal sight was 
none other than the gate of heaven. He was 
greatly comforted, and telling me how to direct, 
begged me to write to his wife, which I did on the 
morrow, though long before the morrow's sun rose 
his sufferings had ceased. 

His wife's answer was pathetic, and worth pre- 
serving as one out of many received during those 
sorrowful days. How many bereaved ones mourned 
without even the comfort of knowing that a friendly 
hand had touched that of the dear departed. 

Here it is : 

" Mrs. C. E. McKay. 

** Dear Friend. — I feel you are my friend, for you 
were a friend to my dear husband. I now will try 
to answer your kind letter, as I have not been able 
to write before this. You was with my dear com- 
panion just before his death. You offered prayer at 
the throne of grace with him. You asked him 
about his spiritual welfare, and you say he was 
willing to die. If I could only have been with him 
in his last hours, I would give all this world; but it 



46 CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

was so ordered that I could not. I was ready to 
start twice, but waited to hear further word from 
him. The letter I got from one of the delegates 
did not say whether he was dangerous or not, and 
I thought perhaps I would soon hear further word ; 
but the next day I got his precious Bible; then I 
knew it was too late for me to go to him, for I 
thought he never would part with that precious 
book, unless he knew he would not get well. When 
I turned its pages over and saw the marks he had 
put in it, it looked as if it had been done with care. 
In one place where he had turned down a leaf, it 
read thus : * Leave thy fatherless children in my care, 
I will preserve them alive, and let thy widows trust 
in me;' so you see by that he thought of his dear 
ones at home. He has left a dear home, and dear 
ones in it, that loved him as they loved their own 
lives, and more. But he felt it his duty to serve 
his country, so he left all. But his thoughts were 
with us, and his letters were always full of the 
kindest words and instructions. He was a member 
of the Second Presbyterian Church, and was much 
loved by a large circle of friends, who mourn his 
loss. I feel as if this would be almost more than I 
can bear, but hope God will give me strength to 
bear the great trial. I thank you for your kindness 
to my husband, and if I could see you, I would 
prove a friend to you. I hope we may meet on 
earth, but if not, may we meet in heaven. 
" From a friend forever, 

" Mrs. Mary M. Taylor, 

'• Newark, N. J." 

The above was by no means an exceptional case. 
It was often a matter of surprise to me that our men 



CHANCELLORSVILLE. 47 

brought suddenly to face death, met it with so much 
calmness and resignation. Almost as often as I 
would remind those whom I knew to be dying, of 
the infinite power of Jesus to save, the rejoinder 
would be, " Yes ; and he is willing!' One, with a 
powerful physique, and apparently in robust health, 
who had just come to the consciousness that he had 
but a few hours to live, in reply to the question if 
he could trust his immortal soul with his Saviour, 
looked up in my face with the questioning simplicity 
of a child, and asked, "I ought to, oughtn't I?" 
I think the form in which the question lay in his 
mind was "May I?" 

Captain Elliot, whose death has been referred to, 
was a man remarkably prepossessing in personal 
appearance, and of uncommon amiability of char- 
acter. A few days before the battle, he had called 
at my quarters, dressed in the Zouave uniform, — 
that of his regiment, — and spoke with great feeling 
of a visit he had just been making to the camping 
ground of the last winter; riding all throught it, 
and lingering tenderly over inany spots dear to 
him by reason of association with friends and com- 
panions of his camp life. Now he had come to 
the hospital to see Clifford, one of his men, who 
seemed to be in the last stage of typhoid fever, 
speaking with great concern of his situation, and 
his own sense of responsibility to Clifford's mother 
and sister, to whom he had promised that he would 



48 CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

care for the boy. Laying his military cap on his 
knee, with a bit of paper placed on the top, he wrote 
the following note, and left it with me to deliver, 
in case of Clifford's death. 

To THE Embalmer AT Falmouth Station : 

You will please embalm the body of Elijah Clif- 
ford, a private of my company. Do it properly 
and well, and as soon as it is done send me word, 
and I will pay your bill at once. I do not want 
this body expensively embalmed, but well done, 
as I shall send it to Philadelphia. 

Frank A. Elliot, 

Capt. Co. F, 114M Regiment, P. V., Gen. Birney' s Division. 

This was the last time I saw ^ear Captain Elliot. 
Clifford recovered, and I saw him at the close of 
the war in robust health, but the last I heard of 
gentle, brave Frank Elliot was, that he was seen 
engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict with several 
rebel soldiers, and refusing to surrender ! Peace to 
his soul. 

The two months which intervened between the 
battles of Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, was a 
time of depression and discouragement in the Army 
of the Potomac. The great battle which had been 
so long in anticipation had been lost, and with it 
thousands of precious lives, and of those who had 
been brought wounded from the field, thousands 
were dead or dying, while still other thousands 



CHANCELLORSVILLE. 49 

were lying in the hospitals, sufifering unimaginable 
agonies with cruel wounds. Was it not a time to 
try the bravest souls ? How faithfully are the clos- 
ing scenes of our life at Potomac Creek daguerro- 
typed on my memory ! The carrying out of sudden 
orders for breaking up the hospitals, and removing 
the sick and wounded to Washinp;ton. Loner lines 
of troops moving from all directions towards 
Aquia Creek. Trains of cars quickly following one 
another, loaded within and without with our boys 
in blue. In my tent, anxious faces of women 
whose husbands had gone with the army, we know 
not whither or for what. Captain Fogg, my late 
brother's friend and tent-mate, as he took his last 
farewell, and mounted his horse, saying, with pale, 
sad face, " We have lost too much to give up now; 
we have something to avenge, but I am sure that 
I shall go next ;" a prophecy which was in a few 
days fulfilled by his death at Gettysburg. General 
Howard, as he passed through our camp, stopping 
for a brief farewell, reining in his horse with that 
one left hand, which had done and was still to do 
splendid service for his country. Major Lee, riding 
back eleven miles, in the early morning, from the 
night's bivouac, to embrace once more his young, 
tearful wife with that good right arm which a few 
days later was shot away from the shoulder-socket. 
5 D 



CHAPTER IV. 

GETTYSBURG. 

WHEN our army left its base at Aquia Creek, 
and moved on to meet the rebel army in 
their second attempt on Pennsylvania, the field hos- 
pitals in Virginia were all broken up, and the 
wounded sent to Washington. Thither I followed, 
to remain in Washington until we should see where 
the next blow should fall. 

The Washington journals of the 4th of July an- 
nounced that there had been fighting on the ist, 2d, 
and 3d, near Gettysburg, and I immediately went 
to Baltimore, and thence to Hanover Junction, the 
point nearest Gettysburg that could be reached by 
rail. From this point, about thirty miles distant, 
the railroad had been torn up, and there was no 
conveyance, either public or private, to be obtained. 

The horses had all been sent into places of con- 
cealment, in case of a rebel raid, which was hourly 
expected. Heavy rains had made the roads so muddy 
that it was impossible for pedestrians to cross the 
street at the station where I had stopped. I would 
probably have been obliged to return to Washing- 
ton, but for the kind and persevering efforts of Mr. 
Montford, military agent of the State of Indiana, 
who, seeing my dilemma, invited me to join a party 

50 



GETTYSBURG. 5I 

for whom he was seeking transportation to Gettys- 
burg. I gladly availed myself of his offer, and, 
after having waited nearly a day, we found ourselves 
seated, or rather reclining, on bags of forage, very 
near the canvas covering of a huge Government 
wagon, one of a train going to the front — a convey- 
ance which we thought ourselves fortunate to obtain. 
When the train halted for the night, we found lodg- 
ings at a farm-house, and the next day I found my 
division hospital near the battle-field, five miles 
from Gettysburg. There, lying along a little stream, 
and spread out over the adjacent fields and hills, 
were our wounded men, their sufferings increased 
by want of food and clothing. Agents of the Sani- 
tary and Christian Commissions, men and women 
who had come for the emergency, medical ofificers 
and soldiers detailed for hospital duty, were all 
hard at work. ' My programme for a day at Gettys- 
burg was to rise as early as possible in the morning, 
and send out everything that was available in the 
way of food to the wounded. An item for one 
morning was a barrel of eggs, and as it was impos- 
sible to cook them all, they were distributed raw, the 
men who had the use of their hands making little 
fires in front of their tents, and boiling them in tin- 
cups, for themselves and their disabled comrades. 
Breakfast being over, I would ride to the town, and 
gather up everything in the way of sanitary sup- 
plies that I could get, from the Sanitary and Chris- 



52 GETTYSBURG. 

tian Commissions, the large and generously filled 
storehouse of Adams Express Co., or any quarter 
where they could be obtained. I would take butter, 
eggs, and crackers by the barrel, dried fish by the 
half kentle, and fresh meat in any quantity, and, 
having seen them loaded on an army wagon, would 
return in my ambulance, which was well filled with 
lighter articles, in time to give some attention to 
dinner. The remainder of the day would be de- 
voted to the distribution of such stimulants as egg- 
nog and milk punch, — which would be prepared 
in large buckets, and served to the patients in little 
tin-cups, — or supplying them with clothing, pocket- 
handkerchiefs, cologne, bay rum, anything that 
could be had to alleviate their sufferings. 

The way to Gettysburg from our hospital was 
through the country which had so lately been a 
broad battle-field, — over which our army had been 
repulsed, and, in their turn, had driven the rebels 
with great slaughter. All along the way were 
mementos of the fight — torn garments, haversacks 
and canteens that had fallen away from their owners, 
dead horses from which the stench was intolerable, 
lines of breastworks sometimes coming close to the 
road on each side, mounds where batteries had 
been planted, heaps of fence rails or stones, from 
behind which sharp-shooters, singling out the most 
conspicuous of the enemy, and taking deliberate 
aim, had picked off their victims without dang-er to 



GETTYSBURG. 53 

themselves ; near the town, on our left, the ceme- 
tery, torn and ploughed up with heavy missiles, still 
lying around in the midst of broken monuments. 
Farther on our left. Round Top, the pivot on 
which the fate of the battle had turned. 

Thus passed nearly six weeks at Gettysburg, with 
little variation in the daily routine, save that which 
came from urgent claims of special cases of suffer- 
ing, which, indeed, were many. Men with both 
hands amputated or disabled, who would eat noth- 
ing unless I gave the food with my own hands ; 
men discouraged and desponding from loss of limbs, 
and painfulness of wounds, to whom a few cheerful 
or playful words would do good like a medicine ; 
men dying, to whom a few words of sympathy and 
encouragement as to the future were so precious. 

One little incident, somewhat out of the usual line 
of work, which occurred at Gettysburg, I will relate 
here, not for any special importance in itself, but 
because I have seen it incorrectly stated in print, 
and as illustrating the power of moral suasion — 
shall I say womamsuasion ? — in army life. A soldier, 
greatly excited, rushed, one day, into my tent, and 
begged me to come a little distance down a hill- 
side, and stop a fight between two men, where, if 
something of the kind was not quickly done, there 
was likely to be a murder. Without a moment's 
thought I ran to the spot, where was the humiliating 
spectacle of two of our men, their faces already 
5* 



54 GETTYSBURG. 

bloody and swollen, grappling and fisty-cuffing 
each other with the fury of wild beasts, while a 
dozen or more of their comrades, standing around, 
were urging on the fight. No sooner had I laid my 
hand on one, and uttered a kw words of surprise 
and shame at their unsoldierly conduct, than they 
drew off from one another, and relinquished the 
fight, though not without mutterings of future ven- 
geance; and I afterwards heard that one of them 
deprecated the interference of t/ic woman, which pre- 
vented the full punishment he was intending. I 
attribute the success of this effort solely to the fact 
of my being a woman, and believe that it was not 
so much my personal presence as the suggestion 
of some mother, wife, or sister, far away, that tamed 
their ferocity, and shamed them out of their bloody 
purpose. 

My chief embarrassment at Gettysburg was the 
want of a stove, and all suitable means of cooking. 
My only resort in that line, with the exception of a 
chafing-dish, heated with a spirit-lamp, that I had 
brought from Washington, was to a fire in the open 
air on the hillside, over which were stretched long 
poles, resting at the ends on upright stakes. On 
the poles were suspended great camp-kettles and 
caldrons, where were cooked rations for from a 
thousand to fifteen hundred men. In my distress 
at seeing so many wants in the way of special diet 
that could not be met, I went to the town, and hav- 



GETTYSBURG. 55 

ing found that a nice stove could be purchased 
there, I made application to the quartermaster of 
the post, and received from him a promise to buy 
the stove, and furnish for it immediate transporta- 
tion, provided I would send him a requisition to 
that effect from the surgeon-in-chief of the division, 
approved by the chief medical officer of the corps 
hospital. This was easily done, and I was rejoic- 
ing in the hope of this valuable acquisition, when, 
to my dismay, the requisition was returned disap- 
proved by the medical director of the post. I then 
went to this officer, represented our great need, 
and begged him to approve the requisition. But I 
might as well have appealed to a rock. He was 
going, he said, to receive some stoves from Balti- 
more for the general hospital, which was to be es- 
tablished at Gettysburg, and he would loan me one 
of them; but when the stoves came they were not 
adapted to our use, and so time and opportunity 
slipped by, while scores of our men were dying 
daily, and my tent filled with supplies which could 
not be suitably cooked."^ Our men were also suf- 
fering for want of sheets, the coarse army blankets 
being their only defence against the flies, and these 
were terrible on their wounds in the hot weather. 
I have seen men, with both hands disabled, crying 
in helpless agony from the tortures of these merci- 

* Another effort to purchase a stove from our hospital fund was 
frustrated in the same manner. 



56 GETTYSBURG. 

less little insects. When I entreated the medical 
director to furnish us some sheets from the Gov- 
ernment stores, he put me off with the excuse that 
he would need them all for the new hospital which 
was to be ; and not a sheet could be obtained for 
our division hospital save a few that I begged from 
the Sanitary and Christian Commissions. ' 

I do not mention this conduct of the chief medi- 
cal officer at Gettysburg as an illustration of the 
way in which our efforts to alleviate the sufferings 
of our wounded soldiers were generally seconded by 
surgeons and other officers, for the majority, so far 
as my observation extended, were kind-hearted and 
sympathizing, appreciating the difficulties we had 
to encounter, and aiding us as they could, — but it 
does illustrate a phase of the difficulties to which 
women working in our military hospitals were 
liable. 



CHAPTER V. 

MUTATIONS. 

IT was the middle of September, 1863. The 
three brigades constituting the First Division, 
Third Corps, of the Army of the Potomac, were 
pleasantly encamped on three hills around Sulphur 
Springs, Virginia. There had been no fighting of 
importance since the battle of Gettysburg, in the 
early part of July, and the soldiers of the division 
were slowly recruiting after their hard summer's 
campaign — their thoughts going wearily back to 
long days of marching over dusty roads under a 
merciless sun, or to " Devil's Den," " Little Round 
Top," and " Peach Orchard," where so many of 
their comrades had perished. 

General D. B. Birney, division commander, grave 
and dignified, as usual, with his staff of gay, young 
officers, held his division head- quarters on the 
grounds around the springs, which in happier days 
had been one of the most popular watering-places 
in Virginia. 

But mirth and festivity had given place to deso- 
lation and decay. 

The large hotel, of capacity to accommodate 
fifteen hundred guests, had been demolished, — it 

57 



58 MUTATIONS. 

was said, by Sigel's soldiers, — and creeping roses 
trailed over the shattered walls, and around the 
broken pillars which had supported the roof of the 
portico. Across the way stood " Rowdy Hall " — 
which, as its name implies, had been especially 
dedicated to the bacchanalian revels of the scions 
of Southern chivalry, but at the time of which I 
write used as a hospital for our sick and wounded 
soldiers. A semi-circular row of little cottages, 
fast falling to decay, running from the large hotel, 
fronted on the lawn, which, ornamented with mag- 
nificent old trees, and intersected by pretty walks, 
descended gradually to the principal spring. Here 
a little octagonal edifice, which covered the spring, 
was gray and mouldy, the walls of the cistern were 
cracked and falling in, and a statue had fallen from 
its pedestal. But the water, strongly as ever im- 
pregnated with sulphur, was clear and sparkling, 
and along the walks which led to it, officers and 
privates were continually passing and repassing, or 
reclining in little groups under the trees. 

General Birney's head-quarter tents were pitched 
in a grove on the edge of the lawn ; his table for 
himself and staff officers was spread under a "fly," 
and while they regaled themselves with the choicest 
supplies of the head-quarter sutler, the best band of 
the division, stationed at a short distance, enter- 
tained them with charming music. 

Each regiment, scattered " over the hills and far 



MUTATIONS. 59 

away," had its tent hospital, where many poor fel- 
lows, no longer able to resist the combined influ- 
ences of fatigue and homesickness, languished on 
narrow bunks and straw beds, — some soon to die, 
others to arise from these sick beds and go to meet 
death in " The Wilderness," or in front of Peters- 
burg. 

Aided by the friendly offices of Dr. Lyman, sur- 
geon-in-chief of the division, who, I grieve to say, 
was afterwards, as lieutenant-colonel, killed at Fort 
Fisher, it was my privilege daily to visit these hos- 
pitals, riding in an ambulance from one to another, 
looking in on our sick and discouraged men, so far 
from home and loved ones, and taking to them 
whatever of nourishing food or stimulant I could 
procure from Sanitary or Christian Commission. 
Sanitary supplies were scarce at that time and place, 
and to obtain them I had to make frequent visits to 
Bealton Station, nine miles, or the pretty village 
of Warrenton, seven miles away. I remember re- 
turning once from the latter place with only one 
paper of corn-starch and half a bottle of brandy, 
yet these were well worth my ride of fourteen miles, 
as, in some case of dysentery, they might save a 
life. 

But these pleasant, busy days were soon to end. 
One day I went by invitation to dine with General 
De Trobrian and his staff officers, at the head- 
quarters of the brigade which he then commanded. 



6o MUTATIONS. 

a mile or two away. It was an elegant dinner of 
nicely-cooked meats, pastry, fruit, and rich wines, 
set out in a long tent, with due accompaniments of 
white linen, glass, and silver. The General was 
affable, his subordinates in the best of spirits, and 
"all went merry as a marriage bell," until about 
five o'clock, when some sudden presentiment im- 
pelled me to return to division head -quarters. There, 
where a few hours before I had left the camp mov- 
ing on with all the precision of military routine, I 
found, to my amazement, every sign of hurry and 
confusion. 

Orders had come to pack up and march immedi- 
ately. Tents were being folded. Papers, bottles, tin 
cans, and other debris of camp were scattered pro- 
miscuously around, where all had lately been neat- 
ness and good order. 

Saddled horses were in waiting, orderlies running 
hither and thither, staff officers folding blankets 
and packing their valises, and just before the sun 
went down, General Birney, followed by his staff, 
rode forth from the beautiful camping-ground to 
place himself at the head of his division, which 
was already moving over the hills — one brigade 
being headed by General De Trobrian and his staff, 
with whom I had a few hours ago dined so leisurely. 

I was to remain until the next day and come 
away with the ambulance train, which would take 
our hospital patients ; and as many of the sick, 



MUTATIONS. 6l 

with their medical officers and attendants, had been 
transferred from the regimental hospitals to *' Rowdy 
Hall," and so were my near neighbors, I felt no 
uneasiness at being left behind. 

But at night, hardly had I composed myself for 
a quiet sleep on the stretcher, which served me for 
seat by day and bed by night, when I was awakened 
by a sudden din and rush, and tramping of many 
feet, mixed with sounds of multitudinous voices, 
and, running to the window, I saw that troops were 
pouring into the grounds, spreading themselves in 
all directions, and some were already kindling their 
little camp-fires, and boiling coffee in their black 
tin-cups. Having satisfied myself that they were 
Union soldiers, and that I had nothing to fear from 
them, I returned to my stretcher, but was soon 
electrified by a confused spund of rushing feet, 
voices, and rattling sabres in the adjoining room, 
which had just been vacated by the head-quarter 
clerks — and what should hinder them from break- 
ing through the door into mine ? After making 
hasty search for curiosities of literature among the 
papers left by my late clerical neighbors, they began 
to push against the door, which was barred only by 
the weight of my body on the stretcher. But a 
woman's timidity and weakness are sometimes her 
best protection ; so raising myself a little, and put- 
ting my hand to the door, I said, ** Please don't 
open this door, the room is occupied by a woman." 
6 



62 MUTATIONS. 

Had my voice been that of a demon, I am sure 
it could not have been more effectual, for no sooner 
had the words gone out of my mouth than my un- 
invited visitors rushed pell-mell from the cottage, 
and I heard the sound of their retreating steps and 
the clinking of their sabres far down the brick walk 
which ran by my door. In the morning I found 
they were a part of the Sixth Corps, marching from 
their camping-ground, near Warrenton, to join the 
main body of the army. Some of the officers, 
hearing of the night's disturbance in my quarters, 
came and apologized for their men, regretting that 
I had been annoyed by them. 

I did not understand at the time, neither did they, 
the meaning of this general movement of troops, 
but I afterwards learned that it was the carrying 
out of Meade's plan for circumventing Lee, who 
had commenced a flanking movement on our right. 

That day wore slowly away, but the train of am- 
bulances, which we were constantly expecting, did 
not appear until towards night, when they came 
into camp, with orders to " park for the night ! " 
So there could be no moving till the next day. 
During the night which intervened, the remainder 
of the Sixth Corps came up from Warrenton and 
bivouacked on our grounds, repeating the scenes 
of the former night, with still more of noise and 
commotion, though I was not personally molested. 
They began to move at four o'clock in the 



MUTATIONS. 63 

and by six the rear-guard passed out of our sight, 
leaving us outside the lines of our army, in a country 
infested by desperate bands of guerillas. These, 
as we afterwards learned, had already been plunder- 
ing a sutler's stores at Fayetteville, between us and 
Bealton Station, and spent the night in the deserted 
camps of General De Trobrian's brigade. But now, 
to my infinite relief, the ambulance train came in 
sight, and preparations were made for moving. The 
sick men were brought out and placed in the am- 
bulances. Then the hospital property must, accord- 
ing to orders, be loaded on a large army wagon, 
and nothing could move till that was ready to take 
the lead. I was already sitting in my ambulance, 
anxiously watching as the work went on, and wait- 
ing with impatience for the signal to move. At 
length the old, heavily loaded army wagon lum- 
bered along to the front, and the ambulances one 
after another falling into line, we jogged on, just 
as leisurely as though we wer^ not within the 
enemy's lines, and no fierce guerillas watching us 
with covetous eyes. Never did a more defenceless 
train bring up the rear of a victorious army. We 
had no escort, and even the non-commissioned 
officer in charge of the train, and the mounted sur- 
geons, were unarmed, save by a pistol or musket 
borrowed from sick men in the ambulances. After 
thus moving along about two miles there was a 
dead halt. The army wagon, with its heavy load. 



64 MUTATIONS. 

had broken down, and we waited an hour before it 
could be put in readiness to go on. When, at 
length, we moved again, and came out of the timber 
land into the open country, we saw, in the edge of 
a belt of woods not far away, groups of horsemen 
in butternut clothing, taking observations of which 
we felt ourselves the unwilling subjects. A few miles 
farther on, the train stopped at a narrow stream to 
water the horses ; and as I was exchanging a few 
words with the officer in command, who had just 
ridden up to my ambulance, the steward of the For- 
tieth "New York" came up, in great consternation, 
and begged me to hasten on, as information had 
been received from some colored people on the 
road that a band of guerillas, four hundred strong, 
was in pursuit, and would doubtless take all our fine 
horses, of which there were eighty in the train, if 
they did nothing worse. At this the officer galloped 
off, set the train in as rapid motion as the heavy 
wagon in front would permit, and having proceeded 
six miles farther without the attack which we every 
moment expected, we beheld, to our great joy, the 
white encampments of the Eleventh Army Corps, 
which, under General Howard, was guarding Rap- 
pahannock Station. 

Here, as my occupation was, for the present, 
■gone, I left the ambulances, intending to take the 
next train to Washington, with which there was 
then railroad communication. This, however, did 



MUTATIONS. 65 

not start for several hours, and while I waited, an 
intelligent young civilian, who had charge of a tele- 
graph station, offered me the hospitalities of his 
home, which was nothing more nor less than a 
railroad car. Here I sat until the welcome whistle 
sounded along the road, and, as the train stopped, 
was assisted to climb into the great box with slid- 
ing doors, dignified with the name of car. But 
here a new difficulty arose. There was no officer 
at Rappahannock Station who had authority to 
give me a pass, and without one the conductor re- 
fused to take me, even a few miles, to the next sta- 
tion, where, I assured him, I could get one. In 
vain I explained my position and urged the neces- 
sities of the case. In vain, a kind-hearted staff 
officer, wearing the badge of the Sixth Corps, in- 
terceded for me. The inexorable conductor rudely 
pulled me out of the car, threw out my valise, gave 
the accustomed signal, and the train whisked off, 
leaving me standing astounded and alone by the 
roadside. My friend of the telegraph, seeing that 
something had gone wrong, came to the rescue, 
took up my valise, and assured me that I should be 
safe in his car till he could telegraph for a pass to 
General Howard, whose head-quarters were nine 
miles away. So, remounting the car, a telegram 
was sent, to which there was an instant response, 
with an order to the commander of the post to 
give me a pass to Washington. But there would 
6* E 



66 MUTATIONS. 

be no train till the next day, and I was thrown upon 
the hospitality of my new friends for the night. 
Fortunately for me, their kindness was equal to the 
emergency. Several of '*our boys in blue" dropped 
in during the evening, and seeing my dilemma, a 
council of war was held in one corner of the car, 
the result of which was an A tent pitched along- 
side, its top being about even with the floor of the 
car. In this, when I retired for the night, I found 
that, by the skilful arrangement of boxes, blankets, 
and rubber cloths, a comfortable bed had been im- 
provised, where I passed the night without anxiety, 
though sleep was somewhat disturbed by the cry- 
ing of mules, neighing of horses, the monotonous 
din of human voices, and other sounds familiar to 
camp life. Notwithstanding a heavy rain during 
the night, my garments were kept quite dry by an 
abundance of rubber blankets spread on the ground, 
and disposed around generally. In the morning, 
my generous host opened his mess-chest and pro- 
duced therefrom a loaf of army bread and plenty 
of hard-tack, of which, as well as of the black cof- 
fee in the inevitable tincup, I partook with an ex- 
cellent relish, after which, armed with my pass, 
which no rude conductor dare gainsay or resist, I 
was kindly assisted to mount the morning train of 
huge boxes bound to Washington. 



CHAPTER VI. 

LOOKING FOR THE FIFTH CORPS. 

DURING nearly all the month of October, 1863, 
the Army of the Potomac was on the move, 
and field hospitals broken up. It had, however, 
been suggested to me by Colonel — afterwards 
General — Chamberlain, then commanding a bri- 
gade of the Fifth Corps, that there was much need 
of such work as I could do in the regimental hos- 
pitals of his command, and having heard that the 
corps was at Fairfax Station, fifteen miles from 
Washington, I took the cars from Maryland avenue, 
one pleasant morning towards the last of the month, 
expecting, after an hour's ride, to find Col. Cham- 
berlain, and confer with him on hospital work for 
his brigade. In the car — where a lady was fortu- 
nate if she could secure for a seat a box, or the 
knapsack of some friendly soldier — I was glad to 
meet Mr. Shaw of the Christian Commission, of 
whom the last I had heard was that he was one of 
a party captured by a band of Moseby's guerillas. 
He was soon after recaptured by some of our own 
troops, and was now on his way to Fairfax Station, 
where was one of the great chapel tents of the 
Commission. On our 'arrival, we found that the 

67 



6S LOOKING FOR THE FIFTH CORPS. 

Fifth Corps had moved, but in charge of the 
chapel tent were my friends Mr. Charles W. Jenkins 
and Mr. Williams, who welcomed me both to the 
hospitalities of their tent and a participation in the 
care of some wounded cavalry-men, lying on the 
floor of a little wooden church near by. As I 
might be obliged to spend several days here before 
I could find means of reaching the Fifth Corps, a 
private apartment was improvised by partitioning 
off a corner of the tent with blankets stretched on 
stakes, and with the help of other blankets spread 
on the ground, I was nicely domiciled. 

After a few days, I heard that the Fifth Corps 
was at Gainesville, and at noon took a down train 
for that place. At Manassas Junction we were de- 
tained by one of those incomprehensible difficulties 
which sometimes occur on military roads, and had 
ample time to look out over the plains which had 
been the scene of so much hard fighting, and far 
away to the fortified heights of Centreville ; while 
some soldier boys in the car kindly helped to be- 
guile the tedious hours by songs, such as *' Who will 
care for mother now ?" " When this cruel War is 
over," etc. 

So the afternoon wore away, and considering the 
inconvenience of being dropped down alone and 
unprotected in the night at Gainesville, then the 
temporary base of our army, I availed myself of 
an upward train to return to my friends at Fairfax. 



LOOKING FOR THE FIFTH CORPS. 69 

It was late when I reached the station, but the full 
moon showed me the way over the hills to the 
tent, where I found a cheerful welcome, and the 
much-needed food and rest. After another day at 
the tent, having YQCG.w&d positive information that the 
Fifth Corps was at Gainesville, I again took the down- 
ward train, having previously sent a request to Col. 
Chamberlain to send an ambulance for me to the 
station. Arrived at Gainesville, the rain was falling in 
torrents, the roads were almost impassable by reason 
of mud, and there was the usual crowd of men, 
horses, wagons, and tents, that one sees around an 
army base. Looking cheerlessly around, I could 
see no ambulance that seemed waiting for me, and 
seeing a telegraph office near by, I went in to make 
inquiry. There I learned that the Fifth Corps had 
left Gainesville and gone out towards Warrenton; 
their precise destination was not known, but an 
orderly was just going to the head-quarters of the 
Corps, and would take any message that I wished to 
send to Col. Chamberlain. I therefore wrote a hasty 
note to the Colonel, handed it to the orderly, and sat 
down in the telegraph office, which was also the 
railroad station, to await an answer. 

Oh, those weary hours in the stations of military 
railroads, where crowds are continually coming and 
going, but not those you wish to see, though you 
are conscious that each new-comer gives you a 
searching glance, wondering if you are a spy, or 
what can be a lady's business there. 



70 LOOKING FOR THE FIFTH CORPS. 

Noticing women at work in an adjoining room, 
I knocked at the door, hoping to obtain food and 
shelter, but was unsuccessful. Towards night, a 
young man in the office kindly accosted me with 
the very practical question — 

" Are you not hungry ?" 

" Yes ; but I can get nothing to eat here." 

" Oh," said he, " there will be no trouble about 
that. Come with me, and I will introduce you to 
the landlady." 

So giving him my name and vocation, I gladly 
followed him to the room whence I had been re- 
pulsed with the assurance that nothing eatable was 
to be had, and where several officers were seated 
at a table bountifully spread. The landlady seeing 
me so well vouched for, consented that I should 
partake of her supper on condition of paying be- 
fore leaving the table. 

Late in the evening the orderly returned, and I 
was informed that, instead of giving my note to 
Col. Chamberlain, he had left it with the mail at 
Corps head-quarters, and it would be forwarded 
through the regular channel, by way of Washington. 

I had now got so far into the good graces of the 
landlady's two grown-up daughters as to be al- 
lowed, through their intercession, to occupy, at an 
exorbitant price, a small room for the night. The 
next day it continued to rain, and I sat at the win- 
dow, watching our soldiers around their fires, to 



LOOKING FOR THE FIFTH CORPS. /I 

make which they seized on every combustible within 
reach. I felt grieved for my hostess when I saw 
her garden-fence, her young trees and shrubbery, 
her wash-tubs, rubbing-boards, benches, all go to 
feed the flames, while the men, in rubber blankets 
and slouched hats, were cowering around the friend- 
ly warmth, and boiling coffee in their black tin- 
cups. Now and then a body of troops, passing 
through the town, would come up, make a short 
halt, and then move on through the pouring rain. 

The day wore slowly away. I could neither 
communicate with my friend of the Fifth Corps, 
nor — a railroad bridge having been washed away 
by the rain — go back to Washington. 

The next day, however, was clear, and the young 
man who had been my sponsor with the landlady, 
kindly sent a telegram for me to Washington, 
asking where zvas the Fifth Corps. The ques- 
tion was telegraphed from Washington to army 
head-quarters at Warrenton, and the answer sent 
back to Washington, and thence to us, that the 
Fifth Corps was lying between Gainesville and War- 
renton, five miles from us. Just then, Dr. Weid- 
man, of the Eighth Pennsylvania Cavalry, came in. 
He was in charge of a train of ambulances, which 
had come from the Rapidan with wounded cavalry- 
men, and the body of Major Taggart, mortally 
wounded in a recent fight. He was now about re- 
turning, and would pass through the camping 



72 LOOKING FOR THE FIFTH CORPS. 

ground of the Fifth Corps, and kindly offered to 
place one of his ambulances at my disposal. Hop- 
ing that I might accomplish the object I had in 
view, I gladly availed myself of the offer, and was 
soon moving along with the train over roads made 
fearfully bad by heavy rains. As we came near 
the place which had been indicated as the camping 
ground of the Fifth Corps, the Doctor, saying that 
he would ride on and find Col. Chamberlain's head- 
quarters, put spurs to his horse and galloped away, 
but after awhile returned with the information that 
all of the Corps, save one brigade, had moved — none 
knew where — and the remaining brigade was not the 
brigade commanded by Col. Chamberlain. 

It was now nearly night, and growing cold, but 
my only alternative was, in accordance with the Doc- 
tor's advice, to go on with the train until we reached 
Meade's head-quarters at Warrenton, where I had 
friends who would provide for me. 

As we passed through the pretty town, I looked 
in vain for signs of military encampments, but re- 
lied on the Doctor to give the order for halting at 
the proper place. But on and on we went, the long 
train winding slowly through the town, out into 
the open country, mile after mile, with no word of 
halt, when at length the Doctor rode up to the am- 
bulance, and asked the driver, " Where did you 
leave the lady?" He was shocked, and seemed 
really distressed when he found the lady was still 



LOOKING FOR THE FIFTH CORPS. 73 

in the ambulance, and with many apologies, ex- 
plained that he had been detained in the town by 
the unexpected meeting of friends, but supposed 
that I would stop the ambulance at army head- 
quarters. 

I, on my part, with some mortification, explained 
that I had looked in vain for head-quarters, or camps 
of any kind, and that as stopping one ambulance 
would involve a halt of the whole train, I did not 
feel at liberty to give the order. I begged him, 
however, not to give himself any uneasiness about 
me, as, in such an emergency, I could — as I had 
done before — spend the night in the ambulance. 
That, he said, he would not venture, as we were 
going to the outpost of cavalry pickets, on the 
Rapidan, where, a few nights before, had been a 
fight, and where they might be again attacked at 
any moment. He could not send an ambulance 
back now, but as soon as we should reach camp, 
would give me fresh horses, and send me back to 
Warrenton. 

It was night when we arrived at the camp, where 
the figures of cavalry-men grouped around their fires, 
amid the thickets and underbrush that skirted the 
river, made many a weird picture; but the Doctor 
was too thoughtful of my safety to allow me much 
time for reconnoitring a post which had never be- 
fore been inspected by a lady. He ordered fresh 
horses and another driver for the ambulance, and 
7 



74 LOOKING FOR THE FIFTH CORPS. 

just as the moon was rising, we left the camp. The 
distance to Warrenton was about nine miles, the 
evening clear and cold ; the cavalry pickets posted 
along" tl>e line were out of our sicfht, and as we rode 
over the open country alone, we were constantly 
looking out for guerillas. Now and then we would 
be challenged by a soldier, musket in hand, but he 
always proved to be of the Union army, and let 
us pass on, I felt more anxiety for my driver than 
for myself, for he carried with him the proceeds of 
the last pay day, and falling into the hands of gue- 
rillas would involve the loss of several months' earn- 
ings. But we passed safely over the lonely road, 
and on reaching the head-quarters of the provost- 
marshal, General Patrick, I was soon safely provided 
for. Here, with many thanks, I dismissed my 
driver, who told me, when I met him several months 
after, that he returned safely to camp. 

The house to which I was sent was that of Dr. 
Fisher, of the Confederate army. In the parlor I met 
Captain Baily, of the Seventh New York Regiment, 
who was, I heard, shortly afterwards killed in battle. 
The family had retired for the night, but a pretty 
white slave waited on me, and I was at once made 
comfortable. It was a fine house, a little out of the 
town, standing on an eminence, from whence sloped 
in all directions beautiful green fields. Our troops 
were bivouacked on the grounds. The fences had 
been destroyed, and officers' tents were pitched in 



LOOKING FOR THE FIFTH CORPS. y$ 

the midst of the pretty flower-garden, horses were 
picketed to the young fruit-trees, and our soldiers 
had broken open the outhouses and cellar and taken 
every eatable that they could lay their hands on. 
These were dark days for poor Mrs. Fisher. Her 
only son was in Stuart's cavalry. Her husband, hav- 
ing been left by the rebel cavalry in charge of the 
post, had lingered too long, after our troops came in, 
without reporting to the provost-marshal, was ar- 
rested as a spy, and sent to the Old Capitol prison, 
in Washington, where I afterwards saw him, and 
gave him news of his family. Most of her slaves, 
of which she had possessed many, had run away, 
and she was compelled to witness the destruction 
of her property with no means of redress. These 
were inevitable results of the war which the South 
had waged for the dismemberment of the Republic, 
but the details were sad to see. But though Mrs. 
Fisher had little left for herself, she kindly shared 
that little with the stranger whom the enemy had 
quartered on her, and I in return interceded with 
a general officer for the protection of her property, 
and obtained for her some much needed supplies 
from our commissary. 

I had learned at the provost-marshal's, that the 
Fifth Corps was at Auburn, six or seven miles from 
Warrenton, and was promised a wagon for the next 
morning to go there, but late in the day word came 
that they were hourly expecting orders to move, 



y^ LOOKING FOR THE FIFTH CORPS. 

and a wagon could not leave. I therefore walked to 
General Meade's head-quarters, the tents of which 
I could see from my chamber-window, and engaged 
passage for the next day in the mail-wagon. Long 
before I thought of rising in the morning, the col- 
ored housekeeper came into my room and .said the 
head-quarter tents were all taken away ; and look- 
ing out I saw that the little white village of yester- 
day had disappeared. I was scarcely dressed when 
a messenger came to conduct me to the wagon, 
and I was soon moving with the head-quarter train, 
which, after going about seven miles, turned into 
an open field with orders to encamp. After watch- 
ing for some time the process of setting up the 
tents, I asked a soldier if he could tell me how 
far it was to Auburn. " We left Auburn half a 
mile back," he said, and, to my surprise, added that 
the little white cottage and contiguous farm, which 
I had noticed as we passed, was Auburn. As it 
was within walking distance, he kindly offered to 
escort me to the place, and so, with difficulty mak- 
ing our way through the press of men, horses, 
wagons, etc., we walked back to the house. As I 
approached I saw signs of an officer's head-quarters 
on the premises, and on inquiry found, to my infi- 
nite relief, that the officer was none other than my 
friend. Colonel Chamberlain, in command of a 
brigade of the Fifth Corps, for which I had been so 
long looking. 



LOOKING FOR THE FIFTH CORPS. JJ 

I had been a few days at Mr. McCormick's, the 
owner of the pretty farm called Auburn, when the 
army moved again on their way to cross the Rap- 
pahannock. Having watched, from the door-step, 
the Fifth Corps pass by until Colonel Chamber- 
lain's brigade came up, and seen him mount his 
horse and take his position at its head, I took leave 
of the friendly family at Auburn, and once more 
in the mail-wagon, " fell in " with the head-quarter 
train. This time we moved only a few miles, to 
the farm of Colonel Murray, an officer on General 
Lee's staff. I was pleasantly entertained for several 
days by Mrs. Murray, when, finding that the rees- 
tablishment of field-hospitals was postponed to an 
indefinite future, I concluded to return to Washing- 
ton. The Orange and Alexandria Railroad had 
been torn up by the rebels, but was now put in re- 
pair by our troops, and an immensely long train of 
platform-cars — minus even the boxes — was in 
readiness to go at a late hour in the day. My seat 
was a pile of mail-bags on the open car, in the cold, 
dark evening, and so far in the rear that we could 
not see the lights of the engine. Now and then 
picket-fires, with weird pictures of soldiers stand- 
ing or sitting around, would light us long enough 
to show that we were passing through some fright- 
ful gorge, and the next instant we would again be 
in total darkness. For alleviations, some gentle- 
men found an armful of straw, which they "happed" 
7^ 



yS LOOKING FOR THE FIFTH CORPS. 

around my feet, and strove, by every cheerful atten- 
tion in their power, to make the journey tolerable. 
When I arrived at Alexandria, and was lifted off 
the car, I could not know by personal sensation 
whether I was still in possession of pedestrian 
powers or not, but being guided to the Sanitary 
Home, I soon regained sensation, and being kindly 
provided for, for the night, the next morning I 
crossed the Potomac, by ferry, to Washington. 



CHAPTER VII. 

WINTER. QUARTERS. 

DURING the winter of 1863-4 our army had 
its base at Brandy Station, and was encamped 
in that vicinity. Our division hospital was estab- 
lished near the station, on a rising ground, and near 
a brick house, which furnished convenient quarters 
for the medical officers and the lady superintendent. 

Our position overlooked in all directions a wide 
extent of country on which had been much hard 
fighting. The Hon. John M. Botts, who lived near, 
and on a portion of whose large estate the army 
was encamped, told us that, from the piazza of his 
house, he had witnessed over thirty battles. 

But the contending armies were now in winter- 
quarters, — there could be no fighting of impor- 
tance at present, — and our hospital work was con- 
fined to the care of the sick, of which the number 
that winter was not large. After the routine of the 
day was over, I would occasionally beguile the 
loneliness of the winter evenings with my long- 
neglected pen, writing out, by the dim light of our 
commissary candles, sketches of such incidents as 
had impressed themselves on my memory, of which 

79 



8o WINTER-QUARTERS. 

a few may be admitted here, as illustrating different 
phases of army life in winter-quarters. 

THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE. 

On one of the closing days of autumn, 1863, the 
head-quarters of the Army of the Potomac broke 
camp at Auburn and moved to Colonel Murray's 
farm, about two miles from Warrenton Junction. 
The head-quarters' moving, though not so grand or 
striking a spectacle as you will often see in mili- 
tary life, is still quite imposing, and by no means 
destitute of "the pomp and circumstances of glori- 
ous war." 

Altogether, it is as long a procession as the eye 
can take in at once, consisting of the baggage- 
wagons and private carriages of the Generals and 
other officers belonging to this department, ac- 
companied by their battle-flags, a heavy escort of 
cavalry, a regiment of infantry, wagons belonging 
to the subsistence department, and, at this time, a 
long line of rebel prisoners, marching under guard. 
We moved along slowly over the hills, through the 
wooded country, but soon emerged on the plains of 
Bristow, where had recently been fought the battle 
which gave to Meade, instead of Lee, the coveted 
heights of Centreville, and to General Warren the 
laurels which designate him " Hero of Bristow Sta- 
tion." 

Yet, as we passed along, my attention was ar- 



WINTER-QUARTERS. 8l 

rested by a little scene, which forms a picture in 
memory, never to be effaced. Just off to the right, 
a short distance over the brown plain, was a sol- 
dier's grave, newly made, and, ranged along, side 
by side, bowed on reversed muskets over the grave 
of their comrade, four soldiers, apparently engaged 
in prayer. They had turned aside from the weary 
march, and there, unmindful of the gay procession 
passing by, with heads bowed low, and solemn 
countenances, gave a few moments to communion 
with heaven, and a few tears to the sleeper below. 

Did they think, in those moments, of breaking 
hearts far away, yearning with vain desire to kneel 
by that lonely grave ? Were they recalling the fear- 
ful engagements in which they and the fallen hero 
had fought side by side, and crying out in their 
hearts, " Such is the price we pay for human free- 
dom ! " " So much it costs to secure to our children 
the blessing of a stable government ! " Or were 
they anticipating other battles, speedily approach- 
ing, and wondering if they would be the next to 
fall, and who would be left to pray over their graves ? 
I know not what were their thoughts, but these, 
and many others, rushed upon my mind, and I, too, 
gave a tear to the solitary grave. 

Yes, this was a solitary grave, but on many hill- 
sides and in many valleys of Virginia you may find 
them, ** strewn thick as autumn's leaves in Vallam- 

brosa's brook." 

F 



82 WINTER-QUARTERS. 

There sleep our brothers and our sons, the best 
we had to give, the costliest sacrifice we could offer 
on the altar of our country. 

Their last battle is fought, their last march ended, 
their last bivouac is made. They sleep well in 
that deep slumber from which no bugle-call or 
sound of any kind can awake them, until the loud 
reveille which shall " shake not the earth only, but 
also heaven." 

But who can number the tears that flow, or the 
hearts that break with longing for the sight of those 
who shall return no more ? What eye, save that 
which comprehends immensity, can measure a na- 
tion's grief, as, like the foot-worn soldier, she bows 
over the graves of her fallen sons, and, from the 
depth of her anguish, cries out, " Such is the price 
we pay for Human Freedom ! " 

ON A STRETCHER. 

When our Colonel's wife came to camp, last 
winter, she expected to have a good time of it. 

Our Colonel had had his quarters arranged in the 
best camp style. A nice plank-pavement all around, 
wherever she might choose to walk ; trees planted 
so thickly about the tent that you would almost 
take it for a natural forest ; a pretty archway of 
green boughs at the entrance, with the red diamond 
of the division in the centre, and everything about 
the premises quite an fait. 



WINTER-QUARTERS. 83 

Within, all was cozy and comfortable — the walls 
splendidly illuminated with pictures from Harper s 
Weekly and Frank Leslie's Magazine, good board- 
floor, plenty of chairs and boxes, on which the 
Colonel's numerous friends could sit around the 
capacious fire-place and gaze on the ever-consum- 
ing, but never consumed, "secesh" logs, or, if of an 
inquisitive turn, look into the little inner sanctuary, 
just big enough for a bed, and to turn around in. 

We were all glad when our Colonel's wife came 
among us, for the presence of a lady in camp is 
always welcome, and though we cannot all have 
our wives to winter with us, the sight of one seems 
to bring home nearer. 

Camp life is not always destitute of amusement, 
and, last winter, everybody said it was very gay. 
There were plenty of balls and receptions, and visit- 
ing from one camp to another, riding on horseback, 
or in ambulances, for many other officers besides 
our Colonel had their wives with them; and, al- 
though we were not within the charmed circle, we 
could see, as we paced our beat, or stood on guard, 
or lingered at the door of our tent, a good deal of 
what was going on. We knew when our Colonel's 
wife got her new riding-dress and hat from Wash- 
ington, and saw her when she first mounted her 
horse for a ride. Often afterwards, we watched the 
gay cavalcade, of which she was one, galloping 
over the hills, and vowed that, if ever **this cruel 



84 WINTER-QUARTERS. 

war is over," our nice little wife shall have just 
such a riding-dress and hat, and we will have a ride 
if two horses can be found in the country. 

So the winter was nearly over, and our Colonel's 
wife had enjoyed her share of whatever amusement 
the Army of the Potomac had to offer. 

But there was one experience she little thought 
to encounter still in store for her, and that was — 
being carried on a stretcher. 

It was brought about in this wise. She had 
taken several rather hard rides on horseback, to 
which she was not much accustomed, sometimes in 
cold, windy days, and on fast horses,- and being 
rather ambitious, and not willing to give up, when 
prudence might have dictated rest, she, all at once, 
and quite contrary to her plans, found herself on 
the sick roll. 

Being sick in camp is no joke, and least like one 
to the lady in question. But sleepless nights and 
days, and pains in the back and head, and constant 
nausea, are stubborn facts, to which the stoutest 
heart must cry, *' I surrender." So, with all the 
Colonel's good nursing, and the doctor's prescrip- 
tions, and visits from sympathizing friends, '' she 
was nothing better, but rather grew worse ; " and 
right upon this an order came for our division to 
change camp. 

Military orders make no exceptions, and hard as 
it might seem in this state of things, the cozy quar- 



WINTER-QUARTERS. 85 

ters must be evacuated, and new ones sought in a 
camp three miles distant. 

The lady's illness had reached a point when, in- 
deed, it might be said, "the spider's most attenu- 
ated thread is cord, is cable, to the slender hold " 
she had on life, and the slightest jar might snap 
the thread, and then all would be over. Riding in 
an ambulance over the rough roads and corduroy 
bridges, was an experiment not in the least desira- 
ble, and the only other resort which camp afforded 
was a stretcher. 

Our stretcher-bearers are sufficiently accustomed 
to bearing wounded and dead men from the field, 
or sick men to and from the hospital. But a lady 
on a stretcher is something quite unique. Eight 
men, making four reliefs, were detailed to accom- 
plish the delicate task, and with infinite care and 
tenderness, our Colonel's wife was laid on the omin- 
ous little vehicle, to commence her new method of 
transportation. The Colonel, with several friends, 
accompanied the party on horseback, and six of 
the men took their turns in going ahead as pioneers, 
to select the smoothest places. 

** Is that a dead man ! " " Oh, that is a woman ! 
Is she dead, or what 's the matter with her ? " 

These questions being asked by stragglers in the 
hearing of the lady, were not much calculated to 
raise her spirits and facilitate her convalescence. 

The removal, however, was accomplished with 



86 WINTER-QUARTERS. 

much less disadvantage than was feared, and now 
that she is restored to health, she looks back upon 
it as rather a gay adventure, and declares that she 
outdid the Colonel on some points of military ex- 
perience, since he, in all his three years' term of 
service, had never been carried on a stretcher. 

THE RECONNOISSANCE. 

They have gone, they have all passed by, nothing 
can be seen of them now but a long line of flashing 
bayonets, passing close under the brow of yonder 
hill. First went a few miles of cavalry (interspersed 
with batteries of artillery), the rattling of whose 
sabres always announce their approach before you. 
hear the tramp of their horses. If you happen to 
be near them as they pass, you will hear them 
jesting in merry tones, or singing snatches of rol- 
licking songs. They go out ready to do or die, 
and whatever else happens, you may be pretty sure 
that the cavalry will not disgrace us. Next went 
their ambulances, painfully suggestive of broken 
limbs, fearful sabre gashes, and bullet holes through 
the lungs ; worse things than these sometimes, but 
we must not think of them now. Then their train 
of baggage and supply wagons winding along for 
several miles, and this is the last we see of the 
cavalry. 

A few hours pass, and looking far away over the 
hills we see a long, dark line in motion, and experi- 



WINTER-QUARTERS. cS/ 

ence tells us that it is a body of infantry. As they 
come out of the shadow of the hill, their bayonets 
begin to gleam, so that now, in the sunshine, they 
look like a line of blazing light, and come pouring 
on, officers riding at the head of their commands^ 
colors and battle-flags waving on the air, some of 
them pierced and torn almost to shreds, but borne 
all the more proudly, and guarded the more sacred- 
ly for that. Presently, other columns, from other 
camps and winding around other hills, come on, 
but all moving in one direction. Where they are 
going, or for what, nobody knows. As they come 
nearer, you see that many of them have attached 
to their knapsack-straps, tincups, frying-pans, tin- 
pails, coffee-pots, and some a loaf of bread on their 
bayonets. They seem in good spirits, and, like the 
cavalry, are singing and joking. But under all this 
appearance of alacrity you may be sure there is 
hidden much anxiety, and, in many hearts, a fearful 
looking forward, — for, my friend, you who sit so 
quietly smoking your cigar, as you read the news- 
paper account of the last great battle, it is no easier 
for these poor fellows to go out from their shelter- 
tents to die than it would be for you to go out from 
your counting-room or your law office. " Glori- 
ous fellows ! " exclaimed the General, as a part of 
his command was marching by. He was think- 
ing how gallantly they had behaved on many a 
fiercely-contested field, and how well he might rely 



88 WINTER-QUARTERS. 

on them to follow wherever he should lead in 
future. " Poor fellows!" said, at the same moment, 
a woman in sympathizing tones. She was thinking 
of fearful sights in crowded hospitals, cruel wounds, 
amputated limbs, pale faces, and brave, faithful 
hearts, worn out with excess of anguish. 

So they pass along for many hours, and after 
them come their trains of ambulances, baggage and 
supply wagons, and, lastly, a herd of cattle, propor- 
tioned in numbers to the rations they are to serve. 
Now, at length, they are all gone. The camps are 
like deserted cities, for they have left their huts and 
tents standing, hoping to come back to them. A 
(qw soldiers, unfit for a march, are walking around, 
or lying under their tents. Here and there you 
may see smoke lazily ascending, but the atmosphere 
is relieved of that dense body of smoke that usually 
hangs over camp. The stillness is painful. We 
sit down mournfully, and wonder where our friends 
are gone, and what is on the tapis now ; for dear 
and noble souls have gone out to-day, and many 
such we have seen go out to return no more. In 
our hearts we pray for them, and then look out 
to see what signs of the weather, and hope it will 
not rain. At night we think of guerillas. We 
know that our picket line is thin, and that a treach- 
erous and unscrupulous foe is always going about 
seeking what he may " gobble." Our sleep, if we 
get any, is light, and often broken by anxiety. We 



WINTER-QUARTERS. 89 

dream of battle-fields, rebel cavalry, and journeys 
to Richmond. In the morning we hear a distant 
cannonading, but we are not startled by it. It 
may be fighting, or it may be only shelling the 
woods as they advance. We judge of its distance 
and direction by the sound. Sometimes it seems 
to come from the right, sometimes from the left, and 
sometimes from both directions at once. It con- 
tinues at intervals through the day, though growing 
more distant. As the day wears on, a courier 
comes in and reports our friends. We are relieved 
to know that they have had no fighting yet, and 
are doing better than we feared. 
. But now a new cause of anxiety arises, for the 
weather, which was fine when they marched out, is 
changing, and ominous gusts of wind and rain- 
bearing clouds force themselves on our observation. 
We try to think we are mistaken, and look earn- 
estly for patches of blue sky, and gleams of sunshine, 
but they are not there. Soon a starless, dismal 
night sets in, with drizzling rain. Oh, the pitiless 
storm ! What can our friends do, with no shelter 
but their blankets, and no bed but the soft soil under 
them. The rain seems to beat on our naked hearts, 
and we are abandoned to fearful anxiety, for there 
is not only exposure to the weather, but danger 
that, the ground being softened by the rain, their 
progress will be obstructed and their plans defeated, 
or that the enemy will get advantage of them. 
8* 



90 WINTER-QUARTERS. 

But all our fears we know cannot help them, so we 
strive to commit them to the care of that Provi- 
dence which rules over all, and to hope for the best. 

In the morning, going to the hospital, we ob- 
serve a new patient, and are pained to see that it is 
a case of extreme suffering. The eyes are partly 
closed, an expression of mortal anguish is on his 
face, his respiration labored and irregular. 

" Whom have you here, nurse ? " 

" He is a man of our division, ma'am, who went 
on the march, but gave out by the way, and they 
sent him back in an ambulance. He was very bad 
when he came in, and he has been growing worse 
ever since. " 

The next day, the fourth since the march, is clear 
and fine. Our friends return without fio-htine:, and 
we learn that it was only a reconnoissance. The 
soldier in the hospital is dead, and we join the little 
escort that follows him to his long home. 

There, on the hillside, along with many that went 
before, and whose graves are marked with simple 
head-boards bearing the inscription of their names 
and regiments, his grave is prepared, and the brown 
coffin lowered in. " I am the resurrection and the 
life" is read over it, a prayer is said, a salute fired, 
and he adds one more to the buried soldiers with 
which the soil of Virginia is so thickly strewn. 

Poor fellow, he was a recruit, and this was his 
first and last march. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

CA VALR V CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

EARLY in the spring of 1864, General Grant 
took command of the Army of the Potomac, 
and preparations were made for breaking up the 
base at Brandy Station and for a vigorous campaign. 
In pursuance of an order from head-quarters, there 
was a general flight of women to Washington. 

When I next found my division hospital it was 
at Fredericksburg, Va., after the battle of the Wil- 
derness, May 5th, 6th, and 7th. It would be in 
vain to attempt a description of the scenes of suf- 
fering that crowded on one another there, as our 
wounded were brought back from the hard fighting 
of the Wilderness and Spottsylvania. The entire 
city was turned into a hospital, and the houses 
were literally filled, from garret to cellar, with our 
patient, dying soldiers. 

Thence the Hospital Department was ordered to 
Port Royal — which was made a base during the 
fighting at the North Anna River — and thence to 
White House Landing, on the Pamunkey. Here 
we remained for several weeks ; the wounded were 
brought in from the battle of Cold Harbor, and our 
hospitals were established, and again filled with every 

91 



92 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

conceivable form of suffering. By this time, General 
D. B. Birney, on whose protection and kindness I 
had so long relied, was transferred to another com- 
mand. 

The old and honored Third Corps, which had so 
many times stood in the deadly breach, hurling 
back the tide of invasion that threatened to over- 
whelm us, was consolidated into the Third Division 
of the Second Corps. Many of the surgeons with 
whom I had worked, and other officers, who had 
been my friends, had left the service at the expira- 
tion of their three years' term, or fallen in the re- 
cent battles. Finding but few of my old friends 
remaining, I accepted an invitation from Dr. Mit- 
chell, of the Eighth Pennsylvania Cavalry, who 
was in charge of the hospital of the Cavalry Corps, 
to undertake the supervision of special diet, and 
other matters pertaining to the welfare of his pa- 
tients. 

While we remained at White House, and for 
some months after our removal to City Point, I was 
assisted by Mrs. M. A. Ehler, of Lancaster, Pa., 
whose devotion to the welfare of the wounded 
there, and in Gettysburg, is still warmly remem- 
bered by many who had the good fortune to be the 
recipients of her kindness. 

A few extracts from my journal w-ill, perhaps, 
give the reader some little idea of our work and 
manner of life at the Cavalry Corps Hospital, where 
I remained till March ist, 1865. 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 93 

City Point, Va,, October 16, 1864. 

I was alone in my tent this afternoon, when the 
flap was drawn aside, and a pleasant-looking soldier 
boy inquired if Mrs. Spaulding was here. 

" She is staying here, but just now has gone out. 
Do you wish to see her ?" 

" She is my mother." 

I stepped outside the tent to show him the direc- 
tion he should take to find her, and saw that she 
was hurrying towards us. 

A delegate of the Christian Commission, who 
was at the front yesterday, had kindly promised to 
bring her tidings of her boy; and as she was on her 
way to learn the result of his inquiries, the sentinel 
at the entrance of the hospital grounds, having 
ascertained that the young infantry soldier was her 
son, told her that he had just passed in, and she 
quickly returned. 

He went to meet her, and mother and son, after 
a separation of two years of danger, hardship, and 
sorrow, were united in a tearful embrace. Mrs. 
Spaulding had given four sons to the service of the 
country. They were all good soldiers, and had 
shirked no duty, either of the march, skirmish, 
picket, or heavy engagement. Imbued by their 
mother with a noble spirit of patriotism, and obedi- 
ence to any well-defined duty, they had borne in their 
own persons the brunt of battle, and had shared the 
burdens and heat of the day; one, reduced to a 



94 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

skeleton by sickness, following exposure and toil, 
had gone home to die. Just a year from the day 
of his death, another had died in our hospital. He 
was one of those whose energies were exhausted 
by the heavy cavalry raids of the present campaign. 
After he came to us, he did not seem to suffer 
from severe illness, and was always cheerful and 
hopeful of recovery ; but little by little his strength 
departed, until at last the flickering flame of life 
went suddenly out. A third is now serving in 
Florida, and the fourth has to-day come from the 
front, near Richmond, to see his mother. For two 
years he has been a soldier, suffering much, as all 
our soldiers do at times, with cold and hunger and 
weariness, yet always keeping up a stout heart, and 
constantly writing to his mother to be of good 
cheer. During all this time he has not met either 
of his brothers, excepting for a few moments, in 
our hospital, the one who lately died. Now he sits 
down once more with his mother, it may be for the 
last time; and they speak tearfully of the past, and 
not without anxiety of the future. He tells her of 
comrades, some of them old playfellows from the 
same town, killed in battle. Of one poor fellow 
shot at the picket post after his term of service had 
expired, and says of him, "Tell his mother that he 
was a good soldier." They speak of him who has 
lately passed away, and, after a while, go out to 
visit his grave. He lies in the little cemetery of 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 95 

the hospital, just in the edge of the woods, near the 
bank of the Appomattox. There sleep more than 
a hundred of our cavalrymen, who have died since 
we came here in June. They lie in rows as regular 
as those in which they lately stood on dress-parade, 
or when drawn out in line of battle. But time is 
precious, and they cannot linger long to weep at 
his grave, for the few hours of the son's furlough 
will soon pass. The mother walks with him a mile 
or two, to our first line of breastworks, where he 
insists that she shall not go farther, and takes leave 
of her, saying, '^ Do not fear for me, mother; if I 
die here, I will surely meet you in heaven." He 
takes under his arm a bundle which it had been my 
privilege to prepare for him, — shirt, drawers, socks, 
handkerchief, towel, canned-milk, tomatoes, and 
peaches, tea and tobacco, all tied up in a large col- 
ored handkerchief, which will be nice to muffle 
around his throat some of these cold nights when 
he has to stand on picket. They were invaluable 
to him; but he could hardly be persuaded to take 
them, lest, as he said, he " should be robbing the 
sick boys at the hospital." So, after this important 
era in his soldier life, he walks away to find his 
post of duty and danger, where, at any moment, 
the winged messenger of death may find him ; for 
it sometimes happens to our poor fellows, lying near 
the entrenchments, that a stray shot or shell kills 
them while asleep in their quarters. 



96 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

Intelligence having reached Mrs. Spaulding, at her 
home, in the northern part of the State of Maine, 
that a son was lying sick in the Cavalry Corps 
Hospital, she had come without delay to look after 
him ; but finding, to her great grief, that he had 
been lying in the little cemetery five days, and see- 
ing that there was much to do for the sons of other 
mothers who were far away, she forthwith sent her 
tears back to their fountains, and began to work for 
them, and soon became so much interested that she 
begged to be put on permanent duty in the hospital. 

The patients were always glad to see her in the 
wards, because, as they would say to her, " You 
seem so much like my mother," " Your hand feels 
so much like my mother's hand ;" and when she 
left for a few weeks, to go home and make prepara- 
tions for a winter's campaign with us, they pre- 
sented her with a purse of fifty dollars, to bear her 
expenses. 

Oct. 22. — This afternoon one of the ward-masters 
looked into my tent, and said, *' Jim is dead." He 
was a man to whom my attention was called when 
he came to the hospital, two or three weeks ago, as 
being a brave soldier, worthy of special considera- 
tion, and I have been much interested in his case. - 

His emaciated person, hollowed cheeks, and 
sharp features, indicated too plainly the nature of 
his disease. We hoped that something might be 
done to save him, but our efforts were unavailing. 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. Q/ 

and gradually he sank away. When I saw him this 
morning, he said, in reply to my questions, that he 
" felt quite well," and "could eat anything;" but 
his lips were then growing stiff, his limbs were cold, 
and in a few hours he was gone. 

His friend told me that he was respectably con- 
nected, and the owner of quite a large property. 
That while he was out in the three months' service, 
at the commencement of the war, the young girl to 
whom he was pledged for marriage was lost to him 
through the treachery of one who had supplanted 
him in her affections. 

From the time he had returned, and learned the 
facts, he seemed bent on one only purpose — that 
of meeting her seducer and inflicting on him pun- 
ishment for his crime. The latter, becoming aware 
of his design, immediately left the place, and went 
to Washington. Thither Jim followed, and learn- 
ing that the miscreant had enlisted in a Pennsyl- 
vania regiment, hesitated not to do the same. Be- 
fore he could reach the regiment, intelligence came 
that the man whom he was seeking had been cap- 
tured while on picket. Whether this was true, or 
whether, learning that the avenger was at hand, 
he had deserted to the enemy, was never known. 
Certain it is, however, that after three years of baf- 
fled effort, worn out with hard service and exposure 
in camp and field, added to the burden of mental 
anguish that he always bore, poor Jim came to our 
9 G 



98 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

hospital to die — the wreck of a once noble, gener- 
ous-hearted man. A few days before his death, he 
had transmitted to friends a large sum of money 
for the poor girl's benefit, whom, with her child, he 
had maintained during his absence, though he had 
entirely relinquished the idea of marrying her. 

Oct. 24. — Last evening I attended a soldier's 
prayer-meeting in one of the wards of our hospital. 
We have had many such during the past summer, 
and I have often wished that friends at home could 
look in upon them. Some, I think, would not ob- 
ject to exchange, for at least one evening, a seat in 
^' eir nicely-cushioned pew, and gas-lighted church, 
for one on a box, or the side of a bed, in our 
dimly-lighted tents, the discourse of their favorite 
preacher for these fraternal exhortations, and the 
grand organ-notes in the stately hymn or loud- 
swelling anthem, for these voices in " Nearer, my 
God, to Thee," or " Am I a Soldier of the Cross?" 

The meetings are conducted by hospital atten- 
dants and convalescents, and they have one nearly 
every evening, changing from one ward to another. 

Last evening, when we entered, the services had 
commenced. The beds were so arranged as to 
leave a small vacant space in the centre of the ward, 
which consists of three hospital tents. On one side 
of this little square was a small table covered with 
rubber cloth ; on the opposite side, a box covered 
with newspapers — reserved seats for the ladies ; 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 99 

while the men were seated throughout the ward on 
the beds. A large Bible was open on the table ; 
two candles threw their light on its yellow pages, 
and the leader of the meeting was just beginning to 
read. Those sacred words of life and peace were 
not less precious that the sound of the reader's 
voice mingled with the roar of cannon a few miles 
distant, reminding us that the cruel strife is going 
on. The above-mentioned Bible possesses for us 
something of unusual interest. I had often -noticed 
that it was quite difficult for the men to read in 
their little Testaments by candle-light, and one day 
had asked at the head-quarters of the Christian 
Commission if the entire Bible, and one of a larger 
print, could be obtained. They gave me this, the 
only one to be had, looking, in its old-fashioned 
calf binding, and antiquated lettering, as if it might 
have done service in the War of the Revolution, or 
been a passenger in the May-Flower. Yet, not- 
withstanding its advanced age, it was well pre- 
served, with the exception of a few leaves missing 
at the beginning and the end, and had made its 
rounds from ward to ward a most welcome visitor, 
the source whence many a dying soldier had derived 
help and comfort. 

During the progress of the meeting, one of the 
speakers, whose term of service had expired, being 
about to return to his home, spoke, with tears, of the 
Almighty goodness that had led him safely through 



lOO CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

SO many dangers, and hoped that his rehgious char- 
acter had not deteriorated through the temptations 
of a soldier's life. 

Another was about leaving the hospital to join his 
regiment at the front, and begged the prayers of 
his comrades that he might be faithful to duty, and 
prepared for any future that might await him. 

At the close, the singers, standing around the 
bed-side of one near to de.:.th, sang " Rock of 
Ages," and several other hymns adapted to cheer 
and encourage the soul about to enter the dark 
valley. 

This man did not call himself a Christian when 
he came to the hospital, but through the influence 
of these little meetings, and the good men who 
have attended him as nurses, hopes he has become 
one, and is dying peacefully. 

Now that the weather is getting too cold for the 
open air Sabbath meetings which we have had in 
the summer, the men are fitting up an old building, 
which we hope may be used as a chapel, and thus 
afford to many of our cavalrymen opportunities of 
hearing tlie Word. 

Of our Sabbath exercises last summer, one in par- 
ticular will not be forgotten by those present. It 
was the baptism of a soldier. The congregation, 
consisting of three or four hundred convalescents 
and attendants, was seated on the green in front 
of the surgeon's quarters. Far away in front, and 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. lOI 

on the right, stretched the white hospital tents, re- 
lieved in the background by the dark pine forest, 
while on the left might be seen through the trees 
the waters of the Appomattox. The evening was 
delightful, and for once the artillery duel, which we 
generally heard at that hour near Petersburg, was 
omitted. The medical officers, and others here as 
patients, were seated under the head-quarters fly, 
from among whom the chaplain stepped towards 
the congregation, and after a brief address, and 
appropriate singing, administered the sacrament of 
baptism to the soldier kneeling before him, while 
the large flag of the hospital, with its crossed 
sabres, and the cavalry guidon floated over their 
heads. The words, **you promise to renounce the 
world, the flesh, and the devil," never seemed more 
impressive than amid those peculiar surroundings. 
The scene was poetic beyond description, but let 
us hope that some impression deeper than poetry 
remained with the audience. 

The Cemetery, enclosed by a neat fence, lies 
under the forest trees near by. It is kept in perfect 
order, and here, as they depart one by one out of 
this life, are deposited the bodies of our brave cav- 
alrymen. To the kindred and friends of those who 
die here, it must be a satisfaction to know that they 
have Christian burial in this secluded and beautiful 
spot ; and though the destiny which makes the last 

resting-place of their loved ones so far away may 

9)^ 



I02 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

seem severe, yet let them take comfort from the 
reflection that there is a way to heaven from the 
field-hospital, or even the battle-field, no less than 
from the luxurious city or quiet country home. 

In our field-hospitals the nursing is done by the 
soldiers. Always after a battle, or a long march, 
many come in who are disabled by fatigue for duty 
in the regiment, and after a few days of rest in the 
hospital they are placed on the convalescent roll. 
They are then either returned to their regiments or 
put on duty in the wards. The hospital, consisting 
of tents or rough wooden buildings — sometimes 
both — is divided into several sections, to each of 
which one is detailed as ward-master, who selects 
his nurses, has supervision of the wards in his sec- 
tion, and is responsible for their neatness and good 
order, and the general treatment of the patients. 

The tents and barracks are regularly arranged, 
and separated by streets, which, with all the grounds 
about the hospital, are kept perfectly clean by the 
police party, whose duty it is to remove whatever 
filth or rubbish may be scattered about. 

As you go through the wards, especially the bar- 
racks or stockades, ypu will notice with pleasure 
the tasteful manner in which they are ornamented, 
giving them a cheerful, sometimes even beautiful, 
appearance. 

Pictures cut from magazines and weeklies, neatly 
framed, hang on the walls ; also mottoes express- 
ing patriotic or religious sentiments, or the names 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITV POINT. IO3 

of their favorite generals. These are composed of 
letters cut from the foil which comes around tobacco, 
pasted on blue or yellow paper, and stretched on 
frames. * The ceiling is festooned with tissue paper 
of various colors, cut in open work. Then there are 
chandeliers made by stringing together, or rather 
apart, several hoops of different sizes conically, 
wound with strips of red, blue, and yellow paper, 
and ornamented elaborately with paper flowers and 
leaves, in cutting which the German soldiers excel. 
In all the wards you will see some of the soldiers 
sitting on the bed's side, intent on carving rings or 
pipes from the hard laurel root of the country, rings 
from bones, or perhaps transforming the thin sides 
of cigar boxes into pretty brackets. You will stop 
to listen to some narrating stories of the fight or 
march. If you have conversation with those lying 
in the beds, they will manifest their pleasure at your 
interest in them by the lighting up of the eye, and 
some will be sure to take from under their pillows, 
for your inspection, the dear pictures of wife and 
children, companions of all their weary days. Occa- 
sionally one manifests taste and skill in sketching 
with the pencil. Two pretty pictures of soldiers on 
picket were made and presented to me by a soldier. 
The greeting a woman coming into the hospital 
receives is sometimes affecting. " It seems so good 
to see a woman 'round ; you look so much like my 
wife, my sister, or my mother." " How soft your 



104 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

hand feels on my forehead." " How shall I ever pay 
you for what you have done for me?" "That looks 
like the light of other days," are frequent expres- 
sions, and leave the person addressed nothing to 
reeret but that sh: can do so little for men to whom 
a little is worth so much. Yet it is difficult for 
many of them to understand the motive which 
prompts a lady to undergo the hardships and priva- 
tions of life in a field-hospital ; and one of the most 
frequent questions is, " How much pay do you get?" 
When I tell them that I do not wish or receive any 
pay but that of the satisfaction of doing something 
to make their situation more tolerable, they cannot 
comprehend it, and ask if I have a husband or 
brother in the service.. A poor forlorn-looking 
fellow comes to my quarters with a picture which 
he says he has framed for me. It is cut from 
Harpc/s Weekly, and represents Paris fashions for 
January 1864, in the persons of three dashing 
young ladies, whose well-fitting and tasteful gar- 
ments are excellent "samples to judge by." The 
frame to which it is pasted is a hoop covered with 
blue paper and coiled around with yellow — the cav- 
alry color. < I am charmed with the gift, and express 
in warmest terms my admiration and gratitude. As 
I hang it on the wall, a companion to other orna- 
ments by which these dear souls have testified their 
affection, and he rises to go, he asks, " Have you any 
more of that licorice ? I have a bad cough," and 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. IO5 

accompanies the assertion with practical illustration. 
Forthwith my box of licorice and candies — gifts 
to the soldiers from friends at home — is produced, 
and with a nice little assortment, wrapped in paper, 
he returns to his ward, as much pleased as I am 
with my picture. 

Oct. 27, 1864. — Yesterday and to-day patients 
have been coming in — nearly two hundred — from 
the hospitals at the extreme front. A heavy 
engagement has been going on, and these have 
been sent in to make room for the wounded there. 
Many of them look worn and emaciated, and say 
that fighting nearly every day, and doing picket 
duty these cold nights, have been very severe on 
the cavalry. 

28. — For the last two or three days the fighting 
has been very heavy. The cannonading was at 
times terrific — the explosions seeming to roll over 
and over one another, keeping up a continual roar 
for hours. We hear it was a reconnoissance near 
Hatcher's Run. About one hundred wounded came 
into our hospital this morning, and many more to 
the infantry hospitals. Of our cavalrymen, many 
were badly wounded ; a large proportion in the 
thigh, some in the face, or through the lungs and 
other parts of the body. Many have already suf- 
fered amputation. Some of the poor fellows must 
die soon. 

One little fellow with delicate features, not yet 



I06 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

eighteen years old. cannot reconcile himself to the 
loss of his right arm. The bullet struck his arm 
about half-way between the shoulder and elbow 
joint. He said it felt as though some one had dealt 
him a heavy blow with a club. With his left hand 
he took the bullet out of his sleeve and threw it 
away. The bone was much shattered and required 
amputation. When I spoke to him, he tried to 
smile through his tears, but it was evidently very 
hard to put a cheerful aspect on the matter. 

A boy of the same age, whom I once saw in a 
hospital in Washington, said, in reply to my words 
of sympathy, ** No ; I have not lost my arm. I gave 
it to my country, and I gave it willingly. I ex- 
pected they would take my life, but as they took 
only my arm, I feel very thankful." I afterwards 
saw his mother sitting by his side, weeping incon- 
solably for her boy's loss, while he, with unflinch- 
ing countenance, was striving to comfort her. 

November 6th was a lovely day of Indian sum- 
mer, and in company with a small party of friends 
I rode out to our front line of fortifications. We 
were able to approach within a few miles of Peters- 
burg, and, looking through the fine glass on our 
signal-station, could see the rebel soldiers engaged 
on their works, and set our watches by a clock on 
an old tower. The house on which is this signal- 
station was for many years owned and occupied by 
Colonel Avery. It is a large, old-fashioned house, 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 10/ 

its Spacious rooms, broad halls, tastefully-arranged 
garden, and walks with rows of box, still surviving 
the general desolation, show that it was once a 
beautiful home. Standing on the highest land in 
the vicinity, it overlooks Petersburg and the sur- 
rounding country, and has served at times as a tar- 
get for both armies. We could trace the course of 
cannon-balls as they passed from room to room 
through the entire building, piercing every wall, 
and leaving in each a hole, smoothly cut, about the 
size of a barrel-head, while in other places the walls 
were riddled with smaller shot. 

It seemed a singular coincidence, that the walls 
of a room, apparently a drawing-room, pierced in 
this way, were ornamented with pictured paper 
representing warlike scenes — soldiers in line of 
battle, cavalry and infantry mixed up in fearful con- 
fusion, the living with their gaily-painted battle- 
flags pressing on and trampling over the dead and 
dying. 

There was something weird and awful in the 
sight of these mimic scenes of warfare, which, after 
having for long years appealed to the imagination 
of the dwellers in that house, now found their 
counterpart in dread realities within sight of its 
windows. Colonel Avery is now an old man. He 
possessed great wealth and influence, and exerted 
himself to the utmost to save Virginia to the Union, 
riding with several of his friends through the coun- 



I08 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

try day and night, and entreating the planters to 
unite with him in resisting the insane measure of 
secession. But his efforts were unavaihng. " The 
North will not fight," they said ; and so the over- 
whelming tide of angry excitement swept away his 
wiser counsels. But, to their amazement, the North 
did fight, and now their ruined homes are a mute 
testimony to their folly. The owner of this once 
elegant estate, finding his protest unavailing, has 
retired to a place of safety, while his broad fields 
are furrowed with breastworks, and trampled over 
by the merciless hoof of War. 

From the parapet of one of our forts we had a 
good view of the rebel intrenchments and picket 
lines, as also of our own. Picket firing was con- 
stant on both sides. The soldiers in the fort pointed 
out a spot near by, where a corporal was last even- 
ing killed by a fragment of a shell. The ground 
was still stained with the poor fellow's blood. 
Standing under a tree, with no thought of the im- 
pending fate, the missile of death found the vital 
part. He staggered a few steps, and fell lifeless 
among his comrades. 

A few months since, in the same fort, we saw the 
guns in action, witnessed the reply of the rebel 
guns, and could distinctly hear the hideous yell 
which accompanies their fighting. 

As the firing became rapid, the officers in the 
fort begged us to hasten our departure, the locality 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. IO9 

being no longer safe, and going to a point out of 
range of the guns, we sat in our carriage and wit- 
nessed one of the grandest artillery duels of the 
season. The shells followed each other rapidly, 
and sometimes we could see them all along both 
lines for many miles. First would come the flash 
and puff of smoke, then the report, followed by a 
continuous shriek of the shell as it darts into the 
air, its burning fuse showing the immense globe to 
be revolving on its axis. Slowly it ascends, like a 
rocket, then, making a grand swoop, falls rapidly 
as an eagle pounces on its prey. An explosion 
and another puff of smoke announce that it has ac- 
complished its mission. This firing along the lines 
was a specimen of what occurred nearly every 
evening during the summer. Many of the shot 
and shell were aimed at a brigade of the Ninth 
Corps, lying directly in front of our point of obser- 
vation. It was composed mostly of colored troops, 
who were favorite targets for the guns of their 
ci-devant masters. 

It has not been an unusual thing in our camps 
for a shell to fall while our wearied soldiers are 
asleep, and, bursting in their midst, kill one or 
more without awaking them. An officer of a Mas- 
sachusetts regiment, while writing a letter to his 
wife, was struck and instantly killed. The unfin- 
ished letter — stained with his life-blood — an- 
nounced to her the sad tidings of his death. 



no CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

Three soldiers were stooping over their camp- 
fire, cooking their supper — the middle one had 
just changed his position to reach an article behind 
him, when a solid shot, passing in range, killed his 
two companions, leaving him unhurt. ** That night," 
said he, "for the first time in many years, I said my 
prayers." 

In our drives about City Point, and the fortifications 
around Petersburg, we pass many ruins where were 
once the pleasant homes of families driven away by 
the ravages of war. A pretty clump of trees, with 
several tall chimneys and gate-posts still standing, 
the well-curb, carriage drives, long rows of box and 
other shrubbery, and here and there little huts for 
negro quarters, tell the story of past glory and 
present desolation. However great may be our 
loyalty to our country, and our detestation of the 
crime of treason against it, we are saddened at the 
sight of these ruins, and deplore the misery which 
involves, in many cases, the innocent as well as the 
guilty. 

A few days since, we made an excursion to the 
signal-station in the Department of the James, 
known as Butler's Tower. We drove from our 
camp, near City Point, about three miles up the 
Appomattox river, where we crossed the pontoon 
bridge, then a mile or two, partly through the 
camps of the Tenth Corps, to the tower. This we 
ascended to a height of about one hundred and 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. Ill 

twenty feet, in a chair elevated through the centre 
by ropes and pulleys. Standing on the platform at 
the top, and looking through the signal-glass across 
the crooked Appomattox, we had a better view of 
Petersburg and its surroundings than from any 
other point, and could trace lines of fortifications 
both of besiegers and besieged. Turning in the 
opposite direction, we looked over a beautiful coun- 
try towards Richmond, the church -spires of which 
can be seen in a clear day. Just at the base of the 
tower is a little block-house, which, when our troops 
came in and took possession of the post, was occu- 
pied by a signal corps of the rebels. So suddenly 
did our men come upon them, that they were all, 
eight in number, either captured or killed, and in 
the pocket of one was found their signal code. 
This was soon deciphered by our signallers, who 
thus obtained a key to the signals of the enemy. 

Nov. 22. — To-day received a large number of 
boxes and barrels of hospital stores from an asso- 
ciation of ladies known as *' The Patriotic Daugh- 
ters of Lancaster, Pa." The stores were of the 
greatest importance to us at this time, and are not 
the first received from the same quarter; they hav- 
ing done much in the way of supplying our hospital 
with delicacies during the summer. One circum- 
stance connected with this supply illustrates a lia- 
bility common in the army, and not very pleasant. 
The stores were forwarded to Washington by Adams 



112 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

Express, and thence by United States mail steamer, 
under care of a friend. While on the steamer, a 
barrel of apples was broken open and nearly emp- 
tied, and a box in which had been packed choice 
Madeira wine, when brought to my quarters, was 
found to contain nothing but saw-dust and shavings; 
a little strip having been broken off from the end 
of the box and every bottle taken out. I could not 
but feel grieved that our sick and wounded men 
were thus deprived of articles they so much need. 
It requires the greatest care and vigilance to pre- 
vent hospital supplies, in transit, from falling into 
the hands of unprincipled men, who are always on 
the watch for them. 

A similar mishap occurred to me in the summer 
of 1863, in coming from Gettysburg to Sulphur 
Springs, Va. 

In Washington, a large box had been packed for 
me, containing some useful cooking utensils, articles 
of special diet, clothing, stimulants, etc. Having 
obtained transportation for it, I saw it placed on the 
same train of cars in which I took passage. At 
Bealton, the nearest station to Sulphur Springs, I 
inquired for my box, and was told that the baggage 
train had stopped several miles back, at Warrenton 
Junction, but that it would come on the next day, 
and my box would be forwarded without delay. I 
went directly to General Birney's head-quarters at 
Sulphur Springs, nine miles from Bealton, and found 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. II3 

in the regimental hospitals of our division many 
cases where articles of special diet were greatly- 
needed. But what could I do without my box ? In 
that was a complete outfit for the present emergency, 
but without it I was quite powerless. The need 
was pressing, so much so, that one of our doctors 
rode one day twelve miles for a paper of corn starch, 
and I made a journey of fourteen miles for half a 
bottle of brandy. Every morning an order was 
sent by the quartermaster to Bealton to have the 
box brought up on an army wagon, and every 
evening the wagons returned without it, until at 
length, being furnished with an ambulance and a 
mounted orderly, I set out with the determination 
to find it, if it was to be found. Leaving our head- 
quarters at six o'clock in the morning, I went first 
to Germantown, where General Meade, who then 
commanded the Army of the Potomac, had his 
head-quarters, to inquire for tidings of it of Sur- 
geon-General Letterman, to whose care it was con- 
signed. Not finding it there, I next went to Bealton 
Station, where I learned it had been sent to Warren- 
ton Junction, and to that place I next went in pur- 
suit of it. There, after much unnecessary delay on 
the part of officials, I found it, and taking it in the 
ambulance returned to head-quarters by way of 
Warrenton, having ridden thirty-five miles. 

Being too weary to open it that night, I sent it to 
a place of safety, and early in the morning requested 
10* H 



114 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

the services of one of our men for that purpose, 
when, to my grief and dismay, I found that all my 
useful and much desired articles had been taken 
out, and the box filled with rusty chains, old halters, 
bits of harness and leather, carefully packed in, and 
covered with a filthy old horse-blanket ! The fraud 
had undoubtedly been committed by the teamsters 
at the station, who, having taken out the original 
contents, had filled it with refuse articles pertaining 
to their vocation. Such is army life ! 

Dec. 7. — Within a few days two hundred sick 
and wounded have come in from the front. We 
hear that the army is moving and a battle expected 
Some of these men were wounded in a cavalry dash, 
under General Gregg, on a railroad station of the 
rebels at Stony Creek. They report it very. suc- 
cessful — destroyed the station, took two pieces 
of artillery, two hundred and fifty prisoners, 
burnt up the locomotives and a large quantity of 
stores. 

One fine, soldierly-looking fellow to whom I gave 
some grapes to-day, said : " I can eat now better 
than I could last summer." 

" You have been here before, then ? " 

"Yes ; I was here last August, wounded in the face; 
you can see the scar now. You used to come in 
and feed me with mashed-potato and other food 
that could be easily swallowed." 

Corporal M. of the First Maine Cavalry died this 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. II5 

morning. He was wounded on the 27th of Oct., 
and was one of fifteen cases too severe to be moved, 
and consequently left here when others, wounded 
at the same time, were sent to Washington. He 
was truly a Christian soldier and faithful unto death. 
His wound was through the lungs, and, though 
suffering much all the time, he never uttered a word 
of complaint. One day, I found him bolstered up 
in bed, while one of his attendants was sitting by, 
singing the hymn beginning — 

" My days are gliding swiftly by." 

His difficult breathing and the expression of his 
countenance showed severe suffering, but his only 
reply to my question of how he felt, was, " Heaven- 
ly." The last time I saw him while he retained his 
consciousness, he said, — 

" I think I shall go to-night or to-morrow." 

" Go where. Corporal ? " 

" I shall die. My wound is large and my strength 
is small. My greatest trouble now is that I make 
so much work for the nurses." 

He is the second of the fifteen above mentioned 
who has died. The first, also wounded in the 
lungs, was a beautiful boy of nineteen. 

I grieved much to see these men go, for they 
bore their extreme suffering with the greatest forti- 
tude, and were rare examples of true heroism. The 
remaining thirteen seem in a fair way to recover. 



Il6 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

Sergeant Lane, of the Sixteenth Pennsylvania Cav- 
alry, having had his right leg amputated, came near 
dying of secondary hemorrhage, but is now consid- 
ered out of danger. For three weeks he lay on 
his back without moving, a man sitting by his side, 
and with his thumb compressing the femoral artery 
just above the extremity of the stump ; thus hold- 
ing in the life current until the artery could close 
up and form for itself a ligature. 

Dec. 12. — Received from ladies in Bangor, Maine, 
a generous donation of clothing, jellies, wines, with 
many other useful articles, and fifty dollars in 
money, for the use of the sick and wounded in our 
hospital. 

Fifty wounded men came in yesterday, and about 
the same number to-day. 

In making my rounds in the wards, to-day, I 
found one fine-looking, young soldier pierced with 
twenty-two gunshot wounds. Some of them are 
severe, though there are none that seem likely to 
prove fatal. He had been doing picket duty, and 
was lying with a relief-party near the picket line, 
when they were suddenly awakened from sleep by 
a small squad of rebel cavalry dashing in among 
them and firing. The party instantly threw up 
their arms in token of surrender; but the rebels 
continued to fire until they had killed or wounded 
nearly every man of the party, and then galloped 
off A brother of this poor fellow, belonging to 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. TI/ 

the party, in attempting to escape, fell down in the 
darkness, and was run over and badly bruised by 
one of the horsemen. After they had dispersed, 
finding himself alone, he got up and groped his 
way to the nearest picket-post, and the next day 
was brought into our hospital. He had spoken to 
me of this brother with great anxiety, fearing that 
he was either killed or captured. It was, therefore, 
a joyful surprise when, yesterday, he was brought 
into the same ward and laid by his side. 

Yesterday, my attention was attracted to a man 
wounded through the body, the expression of whose 
countenance indicated unusual suffering, and that 
his days were nearly numbered. Opposite him lay 
a man, somewhat older than himself, who had re- 
ceived a similar wound while attempting to bring 
him off the field. To-day they are both dead. 

Dec. i6. — I have just removed my quarters, from 
the tent which I have occupied since May, to a 
wooden building put up by the Christian Commis- 
sion for the use of the hospital. Its dimensions 
are sixty feet by twenty-one. It is situated in a 
central locality, and consists of a large kitchen for 
the preparation of special diet, a capacious store- 
room, reception and sleeping rooms. The money 
it costs is well appropriated, and will greatly in- 
crease our facilities for making the patients comfort- 
able, as up to this time all our cooking operations 
have been performed under a fly. It is an era in 



Il8 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

my hospital life — leaving the simple tent which 
has so long sheltered me, and taking possession of 
these spacious apartments, with their boarded walls 
and floors, glass windows to look out of, and doors 
turning on hinges, with locks and keys. Luxuries 
to which I have become quite unaccustomed. 

This morning, about one hundred of our sick 
and wounded were sent to Washington. Many of 
them were in great suffering. A corporal, wounded 
in the shoulder, was shaking with a chill while 
being borne on the stretcher to the steamer. An- 
other, a fine young fellow — so anxious to go 
that the doctor yielded to his wishes, though he 
was evidently almost gone — died before he could be 
removed from the stretcher. Others were in great 
agony from fractured bones. Several of their com- 
rades, wounded a few days since, have died. 

Jan. 12, 1865. — It is nearly a month since I 
made an entry in my journal, during which time 
our hospital has been holding on the even tenor of 
its way, though not without some events of interest 
and importance. Among the number of deaths is 
that of Sergeant Buzzell, of the First Maine Cav- 
alry, wounded below the knee, on the 27th of Oc- 
tober. He died just as the old year was going out. 
His case was one of those which so often occur in 
military hospitals, when, in hope of saving a limb, 
amputation is deferred until it is too late to save 
life. 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. IIQ 

He was a brave soldier, beloved and respected In 
his regiment, and an object of interest to all who 
knew him in the hospital. He clung with great 
tenacity to life, with all its alluring prospects ; but 
when he found there was uncertainty in his case, 
he looked death calmly in the face, and began earn- 
estly to make preparations for an encounter with 
the last enemy. He said, one day, to an attendant, 
" Oh, that the Saviour would only pass by, that I 
might with my hand touch the hem of his gar- 
ment;" and begged his friends to pray for him, 
that, if it were possible, his life might be spared, 
but if it could not be, that he might be prepared 
to die. Sustaining faith and glorious hope came 
at last, and he died with the soldier's watchword 
on his lips — *' All right ! " 

He received, from the first moment of his enter- 
ing the hospital, the most unremitting and faithful 
attentions from his comrades on duty as nurses. 
Indeed, the patience and fidelity with which these 
men discharge their duties, often affords me matter 
of sincere admiration. It is a chapter in the history 
of the war which can never be fully written out. 
Watching their patients day and night with the kind- 
ness and solicitude of brothers, — even when their 
wounds have arrived at such a stage that it is im- 
possible to breathe the same atmosphere without 
risk to health, if not to life, — and when all efforts 
are unavailing, and it becomes certain that no hu- 



I20 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

man power can ward off from the poor sufferer the 
grasp of death, with what grief do they witness his 
departure, and with what tenderness perform for his 
mortal remains the last offices of affection. 

Passing through the wards, to-day, a young rebel 
prisoner, a Mr. Mason, of Virginia, who has been with 
us several months, called me to his bed and begged 
my acceptance of a ring, made of bone, in token of 
his gratitude for what I had done for himself and 
comrades. ** It is too large for you to wear," he 
said, " but please keep it in remembrance of the 
Johnnies^ 

We have always had in our hospitals a greater or 
less number of rebel prisoners, and I have never 
known them to be treated with less attention than 
our own men. As they lie side by side in the 
wards, I often pass among them without knowing 
the rebel from the Union soldiers, and, in their 
helpless condition, do not care to inquire. They 
affiliate readily v/ith our men, and seem for the 
most part religiously inclined. I believe they have 
received the same treatment as our own men, both 
in hospitals and prisons, all through the army; and 
I have known parents at the South, who had sons 
in the Union prisons, to decline offers of exchange, 
because they believed them to be better off in a 
Northern prison than in the Southern army. 

Our friends at home did not forget us during the 
holidays. From the directors of the United States 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 121 

Mint at Philadelphia, we received supplies for an 
elegant Christmas dinner, sufficient in quantity to 
feast the entire hospital. Turkeys and chickens 
nicely cooked, cheese, butter, bread, cranberry sauce, 
celery, pies, cakes, peaches, tomatoes, and apples, 
furnished to our cavalry-men a dinner which we 
think was not surpassed by any in the army. It 
was served in the wards to those unable to go out ; 
but for others a newly-finished barrack was fitted 
up, ornamented on the walls with wreaths of ever- 
green, in which the red and white berries of holly 
and mistletoe were conspicuous, and mottoes ap- 
propriate to the occasion. Tables were laid, long 
enough to seat two hundred at a time, and these 
were crowded three times in succession with conva- 
lescents, nurses, and others employed in various 
capacities about the hospital ; and while they did 
ample justice to the viands, we were glad to be 
assured that there was enough for all. 

Jan. 14. — Yesterday the monotony of hospital 
life was varied by a ride with a party of friends to 
Dutch Gap. Crossing the Appomattox on the 
pontoon bridge, we drove about six miles to the 
James River, which v/e crossed in the same manner 
to Aikin's Landing. There we visited the double- 
turreted iron-clad monitor Onondaga, one of the 
finest of that class of gunboats. Commander Par- 
ker entertained our party most courteously for a 
few hours, and, after we had lunched in his elegant 



122 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

little cabin, kindly gave us the use of a little steam 
launch, used as a torpedo-boat, for running up to 
the Gap. 

Dutch Gap is an immense cut through a strip of 
land about one hundred and thirty yards in width, 
but so long as to make a bend of seven miles in 
the river; and it was in order to shorten by this 
distance the navigation for our army on the James, 
that General Butler conceived the idea of cutting 
a passage of sufficient dimensions for the James 
River to flow through. As going from Aikin's 
Landing to the Gap is running the gauntlet of the 
guns of Howlitt House battery and the rebel sharp- 
shooters along the river bank, it was somewhat 
hazardous, but was accomplished safely in fifteen 
minutes. We landed at the Gap, ascended the hill, 
walked across the narrow strip of land, looked 
down into the chasm through which the water was 
rushing with great force, examined at leisure with 
our field-glasses the rebel fort Howlitt and other 
objects of interest, including rebel troops on dress 
parade, and returned by the same route as we had 
come, arriving home late at night, after driving 
over such roads as are common at this season of 
the year in Virginia, but which can be appreciated 
only by those familiar with them. 

Feb. 8. — For several days there had been 
rumors of an important movement of the army, and 
we were not surprised on the 6th to hear heavy 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. I23 

cannonading on our left. The night following was 
cold and stormy with sleet and snow, and the next 
morning was one of the most dismal of the winter. 
But at an early hour ambulances came in with 
wounded men, succeeded by many more during the 
day, from the fight at Hatcher's Run. The suffer- 
ings of these poor fellows were greatly augmented 
by exposure to cold and storm, after being wounded. 
The cavalry was heavily engaged, and lost many. 

Hearing that some had been brought in dead, I 
went this morning to the tent used as a receptacle 
for such, to see if any whom I knew were among 
them. They were lying stiff and cold in the uniform 
in which they had gone out to battle. As I drew 
aside the blue coat-capes which covered their faces, 
great was my surprise and grief to recognize two 
young officers who were lately in our hospital with 
wounds. One, an especial friend, Captain Harper 
of the Fourth Pennsylvania Cavalry, called at my 
quarters only a few days since. He had then just 
returned from a leave of absence, during which he 
had visited his home. Full of life and spirits, in 
his new cavalry uniform, and mounted on a power- 
ful horse, he looked the picture of a gallant soldier. 
Now he lies outstretched in his rough coffin, with 
features rigid in death, waiting a soldier's burial. 
By his side lie two noble-looking young privates, 
both shot through the head. This evening, Colonel 
T., of the Tenth New York Cavalry, having died of 



124 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

his wounds since he came in, is added to the 
number. 

Feb. 17. — This morning I had the pleasure of a 
short social interview with General and Mrs. Grant 
at the head-quarters of the army. The General's 
quiet manners and grave deportment suit well a 
man to whom the attention of the world is directed, 
and who has on his mind affairs so weighty and im- 
portant, and Mrs. Grant seems well adapted to her 
position as his wife. We had likewise the pleasure 
of meeting Brigadier -General Patrick, "Provost- 
Marshal General of the armies operating against 
Richmond," a fine, soldierly-looking, elderly gentle- 
man, a friend to all who are the soldiers' friends, 
and invariably using the great influence of his posi- 
tion for the defence of right and the suppression 
of wrong. Two men, these, of whom their country 
may be proud. 

Feb. 26. — Last evening we again heard heavy 
cannonading on our left, and to-day hear that it 
was the rebels firing on some of their own men de- 
serting to our lines. This is of late a frequent oc- 
currence. About two hundred came in last evening, 
and it is said they average this number daily. These 
indications of demoralization in Lee's army, together 
with recent successes of our own army, give hope 
that the long agony of civil war is nearly over. 

Mar. 28. — Visited, in company with Miss Bridget 
Deavers, two large camps of dismounted cavalry- 



CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. I25 

men lying along the James River, a few miles from 
City Point. Bridget — or, as the men call her, Biddy 
— has probably seen more of hardship and danger 
than any other woman during the war. She has 
been with the cavalry all the time, going out with 
them on their cavalry raids — always ready to 
succor the wounded on the field — often getting 
men off who, but for her, would be left to die, and, 
fearless of shell or bullet, among the last to leave. 

Protected by officers and respected by privates, 
with her little sunburnt face, she makes her home 
in the saddle or the shelter-tent; often, indeed, sleep- 
ing in the open air without a tent, and by her cour- 
age and devotion "winning golden opinions from 
all sorts of people." 

She is an Irish woman, has been in the country 
sixteen years, and is now twenty-six years of age. 

" Where is the nice little horse you had with you 
at the hospital last summer, Bridget ? " 

" Oh, Moseby captured that from me. He came 
in while I was lying asleep on the ground, and took 
my horse and orderly. I jumped up and ran 
away." 

One of the above-mentioned camps consists of 
men just come in from Sheridan's last raid, having 
been during the past winter in the valley of the 
Shenandoah. We found them lying under their 
shelter-tents or sitting on the ground in front of 
them, boiling coffee over their camp-fires and eating 



126 CAVALRY CORPS HOSPITAL, CITY POINT. 

their rations of salt pork and Jiard tack. They 
looked tired and sunburnt, but were every moment 
expecting horses and a call to " boots and saddles." 
Having distributed socks, handkerchiefs, towels, 
and some articles of clothing which we brought for 
them, and partaken of Bridget's simple fare, sitting 
on a blanket in front of her tent, we remounted our 
horses and rode along the river-side to the other 
camp, which is a more permanent institution. 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE FOURTH OF APRIL, 1865. 

THE Fourth of April, 1865, unlike many of its 
predecessors, dawned peacefully and brightly 
at City Point, Va. 

From the moment when, at early dawn on the 
25th of March, we had heard heavy cannonading 
at Fort Steadman, which, though at the time we 
were ignorant of its meaning, proved to be the 
reveille of the spring campaign, all had been eager 
curiosity and anxious expectation. 

Day by day there had been heavy firing, some- 
times near, sometimes more distant. Day by day, 
we had seen but one phase of its results, in ex- 
hausted, lacerated forms — many of them friends 
and old acquaintances — laid along on straw in the 
crowded box-cars, as they came in train after train 
from the battle-field, and thence borne to the hos- 
pitals, or the transports lying at the wharf 

The gun-boats and all the troops having been 
within a few days withdrawn from City Point, which 
had for more than nine months been the base of 
army operations, the great hospitals with their 
long Hnes of tents and barracks, and thousands of 
wounded men, as well as the vast quantities of 

127 



128 THE FOURTH OF APRIL, 1865. 

government stores, — supplies for the grand army, 
— were left without military protection ; and as we 
were totally ignorant of how things were going at 
the front, we were not without anxiety lest the 
rebels should break through and make a raid on us. 
There was indeed such an attempt on the evening 
of the 29th of March, when at half-past ten we 
were electrified by a sudden outburst of musketry 
and artillery, which continued, in a prolonged, deaf- 
ening roar, without a moment's letting down, for one 
hour, then with slight intervals for an hour or two 
more ; while in the direction of Petersburg, shells 
were continuously flying up and swooping over like 
rockets, and the sky all aglow with those death- 
dealing pyrotechnics. Then came on a pouring 
rain, the sounds ceased, and we could breathe freely 
again. 

Then in the early dawn of April 3d, we were 
startled from our beds by terrific explosions in the 
direction of Richmond — concussion breaking on 
concussion, roar upon roar, louder than the loud- 
est thunder; the earth trembling as if affrighted, 
and the sky lighted with an angry flare. It was 
then that the Confederate iron-clads and bridges 
on the James River were blown up, and Richmond 
fired by its defenders. But the end of these fearful 
catastrophes was at hand. Before another sunset, 
tidings came for which we had long waited and 
prayed, but scarcely dared hope — Petersburg and 



THE FOURTH OF APRIL, 1865. I29 

Richmond are evacuated by the rebel army and 
occupied by our troops ! The rebellion has col- 
lapsed ! 

So, as I have said, the 4th dawned peacefully 
over City Point, and anthems of praise to God 
went up where many lives were still ebbing away 
in completion of the great sacrifice. 

Then there was a general turning of faces towards 
Petersburg. All who could, were anxious to see 
for themselves the city, insignificant in itself, but 
great in its relations to the rebellion, which our 
army had so long been watching, on whose shining 
spires and fortifications we had often gazed with 
curiosity, but which had hitherto been hermetically 
sealed to our approach. 

It was not easy just then to procure horses or an 
ambulance, because everything in that line was 
needed at the front, and the quartermasters — I 
often wondered at their patience — were getting 
tired of such requisitions from the sanitary women — 
a term which they applied indiscriminately to all 
women connected with the hospitals. By the 
special indulgence, however, of my friend Dr. John 
M. Kollock, " Chief Inspector of Depot Field Hos- 
pitals at City Point," I was favored with an ambu- 
lance, and having invited two of my "sanitary 
friends,"— Mrs. Mary Hill and Miss Virginia Hart, 
— to accompany me, started at an early hour for a 
drive of nine miles to Petersburg. Our driver was 

I 



130 THE FOURTH OF APRIL, 1865. 

a "contraband" just brought in, who had, he said, 
" been driving three years for Mars'r Davis, but was 
now gfwine to drive for Mars'r Linkum." 

We had Httle difficulty in finding the way, for 
everything that was moving was going in one 
and the same direction. Squads of cavalry-men, 
soldiers and civilians on foot, parties of refugees, 
black and white, in old Virginia wagons, returning 
to homes whence they had long been exiled, 
thronged the way. 

The first evidence that the rebellion had indeed 
collapsed, was the unguarded state of our line of 
earthworks around City Point. Where (unless 
escorted by Federal officers) we had before been 
challenged by mounted sentinels with drawn sabres, 
there was now nothing to obstruct our way. Forts 
which had hitherto been mounted with dark- 
mouthed cannon, like crouching monsters ready at 
a moment's warning to belch forth death and de- 
struction, were dismantled. On an open plateau 
we turned aside while a line of from two to three 
thousand prisoners of war passed under guard, on 
their way to City Point. They had been captured by 
the Sixth and Ninth Corps while making a desper- 
ate fight for the inner cordon of works about Peters- 
burg. They were better clothed than their comrades 
whom we had seen in the early days of the war, 
looked defiant and plucky, and some declared that 
the " Yanks have not conquered tJiem^ and never 



THE FOURTH OF APRIL, 1865. I3I 

will." Others saluted us pleasantly as they passed. 
While we waited, the young Ohio officer who had 
them in charge, came up to our ambulance and told 
us all he knew of the situation, for we, having no 
daily journal of current events, were far more igno- 
rant on these points than were our friends at home. 
" It is rurnored," he said, " that Lee has surrendered 
with 20,000 men." This was a mistake. Lee was 
that day at Amelia, on his way to Appomattox 
Court-House, where he surrendered on the 9th. 

At length, by a turn in the road, we were suddenly 
brought in full sight of the ** Cockade City." There 
it lay, spread out under the bright sunshine, as quiet 
and beautiful as if no cannon-ball or fiery bomb- 
shell had ever gone screeching over it. The trees 
were in their tender, early foliage, the gardens gay 
with spring flowers. The blinds were closed on 
the windows. There were but few ladies in the 
streets, and these, we noted, wore garments in the 
styles of four years ago, showing that the blockade- 
runners did not bring them the latest London and 
Paris fashions. One elderly lady, richly dressed, 
walked slowly along, with her white handkerchief 
held closely to her eyes, as if she could not bear to 
witness the overthrow of her beloved city, or per- 
haps her heart was breaking for sons or brothers 
slain in battle. As often as we stopped, poor women, 
white and black, gathered around our ambulance. 
They had baskets on their arms, and had been 



132 THE FOURTH OF APRIL, 1865. 

walking about since sunrise, in hope of finding 
something wherewith to satisfy the demands of 
hunger, which had been unappeased for several 
days. It was time the city had surrendered, for it 
was on the eve of starvation. **If there was food 
in the town, they could not buy, with meat six 
dollars a pound, and flour a thousand dollars a 
barrel." They thank God that the Union army has 
at length come in. Have been praying for it so 
long, day and night. 

** Were you not frightened to see so many 
soldiers ? " 

" Not so much as we expected to be. They had 
told us so many frightful stories about the Yankees; 
but they came in so quietly, and seemed so friendly, 
that we soon got over our fears." 

At the corner of one of the principal streets we 
stopped to see the Ninth Corps pass. They marched 
with martial music and waving banners, but with 
no look of exultation, through the conquered city, 
for to them it was no holiday parade. They had 
fought like giants to obtain this consummation, and 
had left thousands of their comrades " dead on the 
field of honor." 

Here a young cavalry-man, Maloney, whom we 
had known at the hospital, rode up and offered to 
serve us as escort. He had been riding hard with 
despatches to an officer at the front, and was on his 
way back to City Point. 



THE FOURTH OF APRIL, I865. I33 

Alighting at a hardware store, we were attracted 
by rows of EngHsh-looking cans in the windows. 
" They are the cans in which were imported beef 
and mutton for our army," said the shopkeeper. 
" The blockade-runners brought them in great 
quantities, and our soldiers were glad to sell the 
empty cans. I sometimes paid as high as five dol- 
lars apiece for them. I preferred rather to put my 
money in these than to keep it, as I knew the Con- 
federacy would soon go tip, and then it would be 
worthless." He had transformed many into cups 
and a variety of culinary dishes, the tin covered 
with a ground of clear brown, on which were the 
well-preserved yellow stamps, with English armorial 
bearings and the motto, " In hoc signo spes mea." 

We purchased one as a memento of the love of 
our brethren across the sea. In another store a fine 
display of French and English chinaware won our 
admiration. As we made a small investment in 
that line, we asked, — 

" Did you have this on hand before the war, or 
is it of recent importation ?" 

" Oh, I have been importing it all along. It was 
easy for me to keep up my supply until we lost 
Wilmington." 

Observing a tobacco warehouse open, and some 
of our men bringing out tobacco ad libitum, we, 
with the help of Maloney, transferred a generous 
quantity to our ambulance, which we distributed 



134 



THE FOURTH OF APRIL, 1865. 



next day to the men in our hospitals, much to 
their dehght ; those who did not use it themselves, 
wishing for a piece to keep as a memento or to 
"send home to father." Leaving Petersburg on 
our return, we took a road leading through the in- 
trenchments. All along the road lay the debris of 
battle — torn garments, caps, shoes, canteens, haver- 
sacks, belts — intermingled with abundant cannon- 
balls, solid shot, and exploded shells, as well as 
many shells not exploded, to which, in passing, we 
gave a ivide berth. In the forts we gathered a few 
relics left by the soldiers in their sudden departure. 

Half-way between two lines of rebel breastworks 
lay a rebel officer, unburied. He was shot through 
the head, fell backwards, and lay with his face to 
the sky, one delicate hand thrown up, just as the 
surprised soul left the body. Poor, lifeless form, 
we would, were it possible, give you burial ! 

Passing through our own inside line of fortifica- 
tions, we came to the deserted camps of the Ninth 
Corps. They looked like a miniature city, with 
their long, regular streets of little wooden huts, 
from which, when the men went out to battle, they 
took the shelter-tents which had served as roofs. 

Near the camping ground were three recently- 
prepared cemeteries for the dead of the three . divi- 
sions, for within the last few days the Ninth Corps 
has poured (5ut its blood like water. Each was 
enclosed by an ornamental fence, such as our soldiers 



THE FOURTH OF APRIL, 1865. I35 

know SO well how to build. Here, on the broad, 
open field, lay the dead who fell in storming the Con- 
federate works on the 2d. They were laid in rows, 
side by side, in their blue over-coats, which were 
their only wrappings for the grave, to which were 
pinned slips of paper bearing their names, to 
be transferred to their head-boards. A hundred 
men had been at this work since daylight, and, 
with the sun near setting, there still remained near- 
ly three hundred to be buried. We alighted and 
walked reverently and tearfully through the ranks 
of these slain heroes. Brave men, ye died for us ! 
God help your countrymen to preserve unsullied 
that national honor in defence of which you fell ! 

In the presence of these witnesses, who have 
offered up their lives, we ask : " Shall all the out- 
poured blood and nameless agony of the last four 
years be in vain ? Can we ever forget the great 
price at which this day of victory has been ob- 
tained, or count for less than a holy thing the blood 
with which a United Country has been rebaptized ? " 



CHAPTER X. 

AFTER THE SURRENDER. 

ON Sunday evening, the 9th of April, there 
were signs of rejoicing at City Point. On 
the open space of the great hospital there was an 
immense bonfire, and around its weird light gath- 
ered a crowd of soldiers and citizens, many of the 
former worn and crippled or maimed; and while 
every available combustible was piled upon the 
flames, they listened to or related with eager interest 
every particular that had reached them of the great 
event of the day — Lee's Surrender ! 

Another week passed, and on the i6th the joy at 
the promise of returning peace was overshadowed 
by the terrible announcement that President Lin- 
coln had been assassinated ! 

The rumor had reached us in the early morning, 
but had been rejected as too dreadful to be possi- 
ble. Still, nothing else was talked or thought of 
during the day, and the gloom of an anxious fore- 
boding spread through the camps. In the after- 
noon I had occasion to call at the quartermaster's 
department at City Point, where, as everywhere, 
the rumor was the subject of conversation. An 
officer remarked that the report still wanted official 

136 



AFTER THE SURRENDER. I37 

confirmation, as might be known from the fact that 
flags on all the shipping in the river were flying at 
mast-head. As he spoke, all eyes naturally turned 
to the window, which commanded a view of the 
gun-boats and other shipping on the James River, 
and at the instant we saw every flag lowered. The 
effect on every one was like the announcement of a 
personal bereavement. Tears started to every eye, 
mixed with exclamations of grief and imprecations 
on the assassin, v It was just a week before, on Sun- 
day the 9th, that, on the occasion of President Lin- 
coln's leaving the harbor in his gun-boat, the salute 
had been so heavy and general as, for the time, to 
have the effect of a naval battle ; and the day pre- 
vious, his carriage had been standing in the hospital 
grounds all day, while he was passing from ward to 
ward, visiting and cheering with his presence and 
kind words the wounded men. When a friend, 
fearing he would overfatigue himself, remonstrated, 
he replied, " I must see as many of them as possi- 
ble; it may be long before I shall again have oppor- 
tunity to shake hands with a wounded soldier." 

At no moment had the wisdom of President 
Lincoln's administration been more amply vindi- 
cated, both at home and abroad ; never did his 
fame shine with a brighter lustre; never was his 
name dearer to the heart of the nation — than when 
Booth's pistol did its deadly work, and robbed our 

country of its brightest ornament. 

12* 



138 AFTER THE SURRENDER. 

On the 17th, accompanied by Bridget Devers, I 
took a train, going out to the front, with sanitary 
supplies for some wounded cavalry-men, of whom 
we had heard that they were in great suffering. 
The cars, having stopped three or four hours within 
a dozen miles, pushed on to Ford's Station, where 
they made a general " break down," and there was 
no possibility of their getting farther at that time. 
We stepped out, and making our way through other 
trains of cars crowded in from front and rear, and a 
promiscuous assemblage of men, horses, wagons, 
and tents, we were accosted by a thin-looking, 
thinly-clothed woman, in a Shaker bonnet, — 

" Please, madam, can you tell me what I am to 
do ? Your soldiers have taken everything from 
me. They have left me not a particle of food, and 
I know not where to get any." 

"There is the sutler's tent; can't you buy some- 
thing there?" 

" But they will not take our money, and I have 
no greenbacks!' 

We walked with her to her house, a good-look- 
ing, two-storied white house, with green blinds, 
standing picturesquely in a grove of large, old 
trees. We were welcome to stay in the house as 
long as we chose, but her hospitality must of ne- 
cessity end with the bare shelter. Her husband had 
been a teacher, and they were both intelligent and 
respectable, but much depressed and discouraged. 



AFTER THE SURRENDER. I39 

Their house was stripped of bedding, clothing, food, 
cooking-utensils — almost everything. Half-a-dozen 
cracked dishes, a few silver spoons which had been 
hidden away, and an iron tea-kettle, completed the 
inventory of their household possessions. Fortu- 
nately, I had brought a few cooking-utensils, and 
with sundry purchases from the sutler, and a requi- 
sition on my own stores, the present necessity was 
supplied. 

During the evening some soldiers came in, who 
reported that the wounded cavalry-men to whom 
we were going had been carried into City Point. 
The next morning, standing on the piazza in the 
pleasant spring sunshine, we saw the head of a col- 
umn of cavalry emerging from a belt of woods in 
the distance. It was Sheridan's cavalry corps re- 
turning from the late campaign. We watched 
them as they passed leisurely along, regiment after 
regiment, brigade after brigade, division after divi- 
sion. War was behind them. Peace and home 
and love before. At length, in the afternoon, came 
the ambulances, and, watching for a friend among 
the officers, we obtained the use of one, and joined 
the column as it wound its slow length along. Near 
Petersburg, spreading themselves over an area of 
five or six miles, on the same hills, and near the 
fortifications lately occupied by Lee's army, they 
encamped. We were furnished with a tent, and 
soon met many friends who had happily escaped 
the perils of the late campaign. 



140 AFTER THE SURRENDER. 

It was wonderfully picturesque, this cavalry camp. 
The little white tents, arranged in regular lines, 
covering the hills near and far away. Horses and 
mules picketed everywhere, white lines of army 
wagons, soldiers moving to and fro, parties of 
horsemen dashing over the hills, battle-flags waving 
at head-quarters, all under the bright sunshine. 
Nor were peculiarities of sound wanting. At night, 
lying in your tent, you would think you heard a 
human cry of distress. It was repeated, louder 
and more intense, answered here and there, echoed 
along in the same lugubrious strains, until corre- 
sponding kicks made you aware that it was the 
indignant protest of the mules. Then came the 
bugle reveille — the clear, sweet notes breaking the 
silence of early morning, the strain caught up and 
answered from hill to hill, repeated and winding 
through all the camp from head-quarters to farthest 
outpost. Then the call for watering horses, and 
other orders throughout the day, all delivered in 
bugle strains, until "' taps " issued its imperative 
" put out the lights." 

It was suggested to me by one of the surgeons, 
that, after the hard campaign, the men, who for 
a long time had tasted nothing but their army 
rations, would be much benefited and cheered 
by some small gift of sanitary luxury, such as a 
can of peaches or tomatoes, or a few pickles 
to each. I willingly undertook the work — 



AFTER THE SURRENDER. I4I 

going to City Point for supplies, taking them 
around from camp to camp, and personally distrib- 
uting to each man some small gift as suggested. 
A week passed, and I had not half finished the 
pleasant work, when the call to ''boots and sad- 
dles" rang out in bugle-notes through the camp, 
and Sheridan with his brave cavalry corps turned 
their faces southward, looking for Johnston.* 

On the breaking up of the camp, I went to City 
Point, but the next day returned to Petersburg and 
took charge of the special-diet kitchen in the Fair 
Grounds Hospital, by invitation of Dr. Blickhan, of 
the Twenty-eighth Indiana Regiment, surgeon in 
charge. The enclosure of the fair grounds, just 
outside the city, had been used as a hospital ever 
since the war began. Its old-fashioned buildings, 
to which had been added several barracks, over- 
shadowed by large trees — the grounds, intersected 
with nicely gravelled walks, sloping to a creek, along 
which was a race-course, now a semicircular row 
of hospital tents, with the grove beyond — made a 
pretty picture. 

* A few weeks later, at Petersburg, I was aroused in the early 
morning by the silvery notes of the bugle reveille close at hand. 
What could it mean ? There was no cavalry camp near the night 
before, but there must be one now, for this was a cavalry call. 
Surprised and delighted with the familiar strain, I looked out, and 
almost under my window, on a little wooded hill, were head-quarter 
tents, and a camp spread out on the farther slope. It was a por- 
tion of Sherman's army on its way home, taking its turn on the hills 
lately occupied by Lee's army. 



142 AFTER THE SURRENDER. 

When the hospital with the town fell into our 
hands, it was pretty well filled with wounded and 
worn-out men from the rebel army. Since then the 
armies of the Potomac and James, Sheridan's cav- 
alry and Sherman's army had contributed to fill it 
with wounds, fevers, rheumatisms, and, if not all, at 
least a great proportion, of the ills which flesh is 
heir to. Here I remained, looking after special diet, 
and rendering such service as I could until the ist 
of July. My friend. Dr. Blickhan, had been re- 
lieved — his place had been filled by men of a differ- 
ent stamp. I had taken lodgings outside the hos- 
pital, and was still looking after special cases in 
which I was much interested, when my strength 
gave out, and I was obliged, with great regret, to re- 
hnquish the work, and leave men who needed the 
care I would gladly have continued to give. 

The labor in the special-diet kitchen, and much 
of that in the hospital at Petersburg, was performed 
by the blacks just emancipated from slavery. I 
found them docile and lovable, willing to work, and 
many of them intensely eager to learn. Every 
spare moment would be devoted to the spelling- 
book, or mastering some of the scriptural texts that 
in large letters adorned the rough walls and posts 
of the kitchen. After the labors of the day were 
over, they would sit with delight for an hour's in- 
struction in the evening — seizing, as it were, with 
joy the key of knowledge that had been so long 



AFTER THE SURRENDER. 143 

withheld. That they appreciated the gift of free- 
dom, there could be no doubt. 

As I sat, one day, in the neat little parlor of 
" Aunt Susy's " tiny white cottage, she thus related 
some of her experiences. " 'T is a great blessing 
that the Lord has 'stowed on our people. I can't 
'spress my feelings on the morning of the 'vacua- 
tion. They told us the Yankees were coming in, 
and that they would send we alls to Cuba, and har- 
ness us to carts and treat us like brutes ; and all 
night I could not sleep because I knew they were 
'vacuating the town. Early in the morning I heard 
a great shouting, and jumped up and ran out with- 
out stopping to put on my shoes. My husband 
was at the lower end of the garden, and he said : 
" * Do go in and dress yourself, if you please.' 
" By the time I got back, there was a great crowd 
of people all over the hills, shouting and waving ; 
and presently a Union officer rode by very near 
where we were standing, and he bowed and said, 
' Good-morning ;' and we all bowed low and said, 
'Good-morning;' and then he smiled and said, 
' You are all free this morning ! ' Then we all 
cried and praised the Lord, and it seemed as if a 
great load was lifted from my heart. Mr. S., one of 
our white neighbors, was standing near us, and he 
said, * I thank God that I live to see the sun rise 
this blessed morning, and feel myself a free man, 
for I have been in bondage as well as you.' He 



144 AFTER THE SURRENDER. 

has always been for the Union, and has often been 
obliged to go away from home to keep from being 
shot. And there was poor brother H. He had 
been waiting on the sick in the hospital a year, and 
at the end of that time they paid him a hundred 
dollars of their money, which was n't enough to buy 
a bushel and a half of meal." * 

Aunt Ellwood, a tall yellow woman, with straight 
black hair and piercing black eyes, whose occa- 
sional slips in language contrasted quaintly with 
her general correctness and fluency of speech, 
and who came often to the hospital to attend to 
her boy, a bright little octoroon of twelve years, 
made her appeal as follows : 

" I had a nice house, honey, before you alls came 
into Petersburg. I was lawfully married to my 
husband, and we lived together twenty-five years. 
He was a stone-mason by trade, and a hard-working 
man; and we had a good farm and house, and I 
never asked him for a thing that he did n't get for 
me. When your soldiers came in and saw my 
house, my carpets, my secretary, my dishes, my 

■^ In this connection, and as illustrating the destruction and de- 
preciation of private property by the war, I will add a fact that 
came to my knowledge in Petersburg. Mr. Gill bought a lot of 
land in Petersburg just before the war, for which he paid seventy- 
five dollars in gold. During the war he sold it for one hundred 
and ten dollars, Confederate money, and bought a bushel of meal for 
one hundred dollars ; hence, his bushel of meal cost him nearly 
seventy-five dollars in gold. 



AFTER THE SURRENDER. I45 

COWS, and my horse and wagon, they would not 
beheve that they all 'longed to me till I done took 
my papers out of my pocket and showed them my 
'ceipts. Then they said, * Why, mother, a great 
many of the white women of the South don't keep 
their houses as nice as you do.' When the army 
went by, I went out and said to the captain, * Cap- 
tain, you won't burn my house, will you ? ' and he 
said, ' Oh, no, mother ; we have no orders for 
burning to-day ; we are after the Johnnies, and that 's 
all.' Well, madam, in two hours from that time my 
house was in ashes. I and my children were in the 
field, and I don't know whether it was fired by a 
shell or by some of the soldiers, but when we came 
back, it was burnt to the ground. Some of the 
soldiers told the captain about it, and he came back 
to see me, and 'pear'd mighty sorry. He said : 
* Why, mother, I found you in a house this morn- 
ing, and I can't leave you and your children in the 
woods.' So he took me to a large house that 
'longed to Mr. Dabney. He had gone away, and 
the captain gave me a paper, and told me to stay 
there till fall." " How many children have you 
Aunty ? " ** I has three chillun that I has to scuffle 
for, honey, and three that can scuffle for themselves. 
This little boy that you sees in the hospital has 
been a hard-working boy ever since he was seven 
years old. He has been my chief 'pendence ever 
since his father died, till he done fell from a tree and 
13 K 



146 AFTER THE SURRENDER. 

broke his arm so bad, that the doctor had to cut it 
off. If you sees anything when you turns round, 
honey, that you can spar for me, you won't lose any- 
thing from the good Father. I tells you, madam, 
Fse a woman that 's born of the Spirit, and He tell 
me I shall find friends now and then as I goes 
along. I has no house, no moneys, no anything 
for my chillun, but I keeps 'pending on the Lord, 
and that is all my 'pendence. I know He takes care 
of me. I shall have moneys by and by. When 
the day of my death comes, that will be my riches 
day. If you can give us something to help us till 
after next winter respires, when once the winter has 
respired we can scuffle for ourselves.' " 



CHAPTER XI. 

ALONG THE LINES. 

April, 1866. 

ALL through February and March, we have in 
Virginia, contrasting with many cold, bluster- 
ing days, some delightfully mild and spring-like. 
The sun, unobstructed by a cloud, pours his heating 
rays upon the earth ; the atmosphere is balmy with 
the breath of pine groves, and we wonder where 
winter has so deftly hidden itself. 

On such days, it has been a rare treat to explore 
on horseback the surrounding country, riding over 
the smooth, sanded roads, along the lines of forti- 
fication with which the earth for many miles around 
Petersburg is furrowed, through the old camps of 
the late contending armies, into the forts which will 
hereafter be famous in song and story, and over 
battle-fields which have so often shaken at the tread 
of armed hosts and the thunder of artillery. 

A few miles east of Petersburg is Fort Stedman, 
captured from the rebels on the i6th of June, 1864, 
and known until late in the war as Battery No. 
Four. It is on our inside line, built in a pretty 
grove on high ground, and from the parapet com- 
manding a near view of the outside rebel line, which 

147 



148 ALONG THE LINES. 

here approaches ours, nearer than at any other 
point. Here, early on the morning of the 25th of 
March, 1865, sounded the reveille of the spring 
campaign for the Army of the Potomac, by the 
rebels surprising our garrison, carrying the fort and 
a part of the line to the right and left of it, and 
turning the guns of the fort on its defenders. But 
our troops soon rallied and, after a short contest, 
retook the fort, and drove back the enemy with a 
heavy loss in killed and wounded, and nineteen 
hundred prisoners ; our loss in killed being sixty- 
eight, three hundred and thirty-seven wounded, and 
five hundred and six missing. Some of the little 
log-houses occupied by the soldiers are still stand- 
ing, and gabions loosened from the works are roll- 
ing about. 

Following the lines southward as they come 
around the city, our next point of attraction is the 
crater, on the rebel line, out of which, on the morn- 
ing of the 30th of July, 1 864, was blown the fort stand- 
ing over it. The distance between the lines at this 
point is seventy yards. Our men commenced tun- 
nelling in rear of this line, so that the length of the 
tunnel was one hundred and fifty yards. Tracing 
its course from the crater, we look down into its 
mouth, still open, and see where in the red clay the 
work began, which went on in silence sixteen 
nights, the enemy all the time suspecting something 
of the kind, but searching in vain to discover it. 



ALONG THE LINES. I49 

In one place they dug directly over it, and would 
have struck it by digging three feet farther. 

At length the morning of the 30th came, and at 
a distance of fifty feet below the surface the fatal 
fuse accomplished its direful mission, and the works 
exploded, blowing up the fort, and shaking the 
earth for miles around. Out of two hundred men 
in quarters, never dreaming of the volcano beneath 
them, two only escaped. The rebels were taken by 
surprise and thrown into confusion. Our troops 
(mostly colored) came up and threw themselves 
into the breach, but were not supported by rein- 
forcements in time to hold the advantage. The 
enemy soon rallied, a terrible carnage ensued, and 
resulted in our men being driven back and the line 
retaken. Twenty-five hundred of assailants and 
assailed are said to be buried in the bottom of the 
crater, and even now every heavy rain washes up 
human bones. The grounds around are neatly 
fenced, a small refreshment saloon, where are sold 
relics of battles, is established at its entrance, and 
the owner, having been ruined in property by the 
war, seeks a slight indemnification by levying a tax 
of a quarter per head on each visitor. 

Farther along on the rebel line is Fort Mahone, 
christened Fort Damnation by our soldiers in re- 
turn for the compliment of the rebels in calling 
their own, Fort Sedgwick, directly opposite. Fort 
Hell ; and next to Fort Sedgwick is Fort Davis, 
13* 



150 ALONG THE LINES. 

one of the finest on our line. A few miles further 
on the line is Fort Wadsworth, where the military 
railroad intersects the Weldon road, and two miles 
further, Forts Fisher and Welsh, where the line, 
having run westerly for several miles, makes an 
angle and strikes off in a southerly direction to 
Hatcher's Run, This is our inside heavy line, on 
which, as on the outer one, equally heavy, are many 
other beautiful forts, but those above mentioned are 
the most noted. They all present the same general 
appearance, the works being in a good state of pre- 
servation; and we notice that the outside defences 
of ours are generally abatis^ while those of the 
rebels are chevaux-de-frise. 

Two miles from the Appomattox River, south- 
west from Petersburg, on the outside rebel line, is 
Fort Gregg, where the enemy made their last stand 
on the 2d of April, 1865, and fought desperately, 
though they well knew that all was lost. Two 
hundred and fifty picked men from Lee's army had 
sworn to defend it to the bitter end. They raised 
the white flag in token of surrender, and then 
placed their guns in range of the column of Fed- 
eral troops advancing to receive it. On came our 
brave boys, (General Gibbon's command,) flushed 
with victory, and ardent to plant the stars and 
stripes on the last stronghold of rebellion; but 
when they are just ready to mount the works, a 
murderous fire opens on them, and the ranks go 



ALONG THE LINES. I5I 

down as the ripened grain falls beneath the scythe 
of the mower. On thunders the artillery, but our 
men charge up through carnage and smoke. They 
leap the ditch, mount the works, and rush into the 
strife. Then was terrible killing. Fighting hand- 
to-hand with butt-ends of muskets, until the fort 
was heaped with the dead. A rebel chronicler 
states that, after having encouraged their men to 
the last, Generals Heth and Wilcox, when they saw 
that they were overwhelmed, put spurs to their 
horses, galloped out of the sally-port, and fled to- 
wards the Appomattox. 

Just at this sally-port, turning my horse that I 
might take a view of the surroundings, my colored 
guide, Missouri, turned up a human skull with her 
walking-stick. 

" This," said she, " was a Union soldier." 
" How do you know he was a Union soldier?" 
" Because here are some pieces of his blue coat." 
He had been buried in his blanket, but heavy 
rains had washed away the shallow covering of 
earth, and the skull had rolled over on the ground. 
Then she handed me a minie-ball, melted and bat- 
tered out of shape, which she had picked up close 
to the body. Perhaps it was the very missile that 
had carried death to his heart. Within sight of 
this fort, on the same line, stands the house of my 
friend, Mrs. H., who came from the North, and set- 
tled here a few years before the war. Her husband 



152 ALONG THE LINES. 

was conscripted in the rebel army, and she left alone 
in the care of her children nearly all the time. 
Imagine a Union woman living unprotected on a 
rebel line of fortifications ! On the morning of the 
2d of April, she saw the Sixth Corps come sweep- 
ing over the hills and fields that lie between the two 
lines, break through the works, and plant the Fed- 
eral flag directly in the rear of her house. They 
were on their way to take the South Side railroad, 
which they struck about a mile from the house. 
Her husband was then at home, was captured by 
our soldiers and held a prisoner for several months. 
They were preparing to set fire to the house, 
when a Federal officer rode up and drove them 
away. Shells and bullets were flying thickly over 
the house, and the soldiers began to batter down 
the door. In vain she entreated them to spare the 
house, protesting that they were from the North, 
and loved the Union. They declared that a Union 
woman could not live so near the rebel lines, and 
would have treated her roughly, had not another 
officer come to her rescue. Laying his hand upon 
her head, he said, " My dear madam, I would not 
have a hair of your head hurt for the world ; but go 
into the cellar, and stay there with your children 
until the shelling is over, for your house may be 
riddled with balls ; and I will place a guard around 
it." The house was perforated in many places, but 
escaped better than that of her neighbor, Mrs. C, 



ALONG THE LINES. I53 

also a Northerner, which being half-way between 
the lines was completely battered down with shells, 
while the family in the cellar escaped unhurt. 

Hatcher's Run was the scene of many heavy 
battles, and it was near the anniversary of one of 
those, the 7th of February, that we rode over the 
fields and through the timber where it occurred. 
There is little now to mark it as a battle-field, save 
here and there tree-tops cut off sharply, branches 
lopped and hanging down, and the trunks pierced 
with shot and shell. The sun shines quietly through 
the solitude, and the birds sing undisturbed in the 
branches. How different from the scenes of con- 
fusion and terror of a year ago, when, in extending 
our lines to this place, so many brave men on both 
sides bit the dust ! 

Riding out south-westerly from Petersburg on the 
Boydton plank-road, crossing Hatcher's Run on a 
rickety old bridge at Burgess's mill, and taking the 
White Oak road, we find the battle-field of Five 
Forks, sixteen miles from the city. 

Here, on the ist of April, 1865, our cavalry 
under General Sheridan, and infantry under General 
Warren, engaged the enemy and, after a heavy 
battle, drove him from his intrenchments, capturing 
all his artillery and between five and six thousand 
prisoners. The left fork of the road leads to Din- 
widdle Court-House, down which Sheridan and his 
cavalry advanced to the attack. 



154 ALONG THE LINES. 

Here, as indeed nearly all along the road from 
Hatcher's Run, are marks of fighting on the trees, 
and quantities of gun-stocks and sword-sheaths 
lying around. 

But on none of the battle-fields around Peters- 
burg had there been more hard fighting than at 
Ream's Station, six miles south of the city, on the 
Weldon railroad. A small church near the station 
is perforated in all directions with shells, canister, 
and grape-shot, and the trees for miles around bear 
marks of the fiery storms that have beaten against 
them, cutting so many of them to the heart. All 
through the timber are found the usual dedris o(ha.tt\e, 
— old shoes still tied with their leathern thongs, 
fragments of clothing, canteens and haversacks, belts 
and breast-plates that had so often been buckled 
over hearts throbbing with love for somebody. 

Just in sight of the station, and within a stone's 
throw of it, lying under a large tree, was a com- 
plete skeleton, marked by a little head-board as 
that of a sergeant belonging to an Arkansas regi- 
ment. The scanty covering of earth had been 
washed away and left the skeleton entire. Parts 
of others lie around, but none so perfect as this. 

On all these battle-fields, mindful of the anxiety 
of friends at home for relics, we gathered such as 
we could bring away conveniently. The most in- 
teresting were grape and canister shot, slugs, minie- 
balls, and pieces of shell cut from the trees in which 
they had been imbedded. 



ALONG THE LINES. 155 

The captain, having previously armed himself 
with a hatchet for that purpose, rode up to the trees, 
cut away the chips, and loosened up the ball, then 
rode out, while I pressed up my gray as closely as 
possible to the prize, and reaching up or down, as 
the situation might require, plucked it out easily 
with my fingers. " Rare fruit our trees yield us," 
I exclaimed. Little did I think, when in childhood 
it was my delight to roam the woods in search of 
berries, and to pluck from the bark of the spruce 
its gummy treasure, that I should ever gather from 
the trees of my native land such fruit as this ! 

But we must not linger too long in this fascina- 
ting search, for already the sun is declining to the 
western horizon. His slanting rays penetrate the 
forest avenues, and light up the grim features of the 
skeleton under the tree with a ghastly smile. They 
are like fire in the windows of the planter's houses, 
and tinge the yellow fields with a golden hue. Ad- 
monished by the closing day, we turn our horses 
hastily towards home, and they, catching the spirit 
of our intention, bring us into camp *' at double- 
quick." 



PART II. 



WITH THE FREEDMEN. 

THE winter of 1865-6, I spent at Poplar Springs, 
Va. My work there was mainly receiving 
from various charitable societies in this country and 
England, supplies of clothing, and distributing them 
to the destitute freed people in the encampment, and 
in the country around. From nine to ten thousand 
dollars' worth of clothing passed through my hands 
to the freed people of Virginia during the winter, 
and the next winter, while engaged in the same 
work at Petersburg, seven thousand dollars' worth. 
The following letters, written with a view to keep 
in activity the interest of friends co-operating in 
this good work, have already been in print, and are 
here subjoined as illustrating some of the fruits of 
American slavery — the cause of all our woe in the 
late civil war — and the condition of the colored 
race during the early days of emancipation. 
14 157 



CHAPTER I. 

MY ANGELS. 

WHEN, just before leaving Boston, I said to 
my venerable friend, " I would like a troop 
of them to accompany me," and he replied, "They 
surely will," I did not think, his prophecy would be 
so nearly verified. 

He, being a firm believer in the theory of " spirit- 
ual manifestations," which has so many advocates 
in and around Boston at the present day, had 
patiently and kindly favored me with many tests on 
which he relies for the support of his belief 

I took the ground that human helpers are our 
true angels. That when one comes to me in my 
want, my sorrow, or distress, bearing relief, that is 
my angel. For, granting there are spiritual beings 
around me, witnesses of my anguish, they, not being 
endowed with physical forms and members, cannot 
furnish me with material aid, which is what I need. 

Often and often, when I have looked around on 
the ghastly relics of the battle-field, and heard from 
every quarter cries for help ! help ! help ! have I 
wondered if there were indeed pitying angels who 
beheld the sight, and, if so, must they not long for 
human hands and human feet, that they might run 

158 



MY ANGELS. I59 

quickly with relief. And then with their superior 
wisdom and skill, how efficient would be their aid — 
for, slow and inadequate as was the relief we could 
bring with human hands, it was often received as a 
heavenly ministration. Some such shadowy idea 
as this was doubtless flitting through the brain of 
Lieutenant S., when, one day, after weeks of uncon- 
scious illness in the hospital, during which he had 
taken no nourishment save what I had persuaded 
him to receive from my hand, he looked up with 
the light of returning reason in his large blue eyes, 
exclaiming, ** You, you, are my ministering angel !" 

With such words I strove to maintain my side of 
the argument, while my friend insisted that spirit- 
ual beings are really present in our time of need, 
and aid us by influencing our fellow-mortals to ad- 
minister succor. "And they will surely go with 
you," he said ; " they will follow you, though you 
will not see them." 

There was need enough, I thought, for the con- 
templated journey offered nothing inviting to my 
anticipations. I was leaving behind me all that I 
held pleasant in social life. My own home, it was 
true, stood desolate and uninviting, with no tear for 
my departure, and no smile to welcome my return ; 
but many other homes, ** Homes not alien, though 
not mine," still warm and bright with the light of 
hope and love, stood open to me, and it was some- 
thing to turn away from all these. My journey 



l6o MY ANGELS. 

would lead me among strangers and away from any 
human protection to which I might lay claim. The 
rushing rail-car, the creaking, flying steamboat 
would bear me swiftly to scenes where all was 
strange and terrible to my apprehension. And if 
invisible spirits, full of love and sympathy, are with 
me on the way, what can they do for me ? I am 
"of the earth, earthy," my human want requires 
human help. They have no voice with which to 
speak to the ear words of consolation — no hands 
to shield me from danger — no arm on which I may 
lean, or feet to walk by my side through the 
crowded thoroughfares. Surely, if my pockets are 
picked, or if I am subjected to the annoyances of 
rude or wicked men, or if by collision, or other ac- 
cident, I feel my limbs being crushed beneath fall- 
ing timbers, it would be slight relief to Jiope that 
heavenly beings are looking on with pitying eyes. 

It was from such a reverie, just as the evening 
train was about to leave the crowded depot in Bos- 
ton, that a pleasant voice interrupted me, and a 
strange gentleman asked permission to take the 
vacant seat by my side. There was nothing pecu- 
liar in this, neither was there anything peculiar in 
the man. He was going from Boston to New York, 
on some errand of business, and preferred to while 
away the hours by chatting on the ordinary topics 
of the day, rather than to spend them in the smok- 
ing-car, or doze them away in solitude. To divert 



MY ANGELS. l6l 

me from my gloomy thoughts during the evening 
ride, to secure my state-room on the boat, to escort 
me thither, carrying my travelling-bag, and to bid 
me good-night with complimentary wishes, cost 
him little effort, but it was much to me. I know 
not his name, whether he was a good or bad man ; 
but if he had been an angel, commissioned espe- 
cially to care for me during that stage of the jour- 
ney, I do not know that he could have done more. 

The night passed quietly on the Sound, and the 
early dawn brought us safely to the dock in New 
York. Here my angel took the form of a good- 
natured hack driver, conducting me safely to my 
destination, and when there, he spoke through the 
voices of friends and little children bidding me a 
joyful welcome. 

I had purposed to spend only a few days in New 
York, thinking that my work was ready for me at 
my journey's end, but my angel knew better. The 
scene of my winter's work was not yet prepared for 
me, and not one day too soon or too late would he 
allow me to proceed on my journey; so, with va- 
rious pretexts, through the kindly persuasions of 
friends, he prolonged my stay, until every arrange- 
ment was made by persons who did not then know 
of my existence, and then said go so unmistakably, 
that nothing could delay me another hour. Again 
my weak faith faltered, when I found myself on the 
evening train from New York to Baltimore, where 
14* L 



l62 MY ANGELS. 

I was to arrive at midnight. My companion, this 
time, was more helpless than myself, being a poor 
German woman, who could neither speak nor under- 
stand a word of English ; could signify her destina- 
tion only by an address on the back of an envelope ; 
and my few words of sympathy and assistance 
brought the tears streaming from her eyes. 

But no sooner had the cars arrived in Baltimore, 
than my angel appeared with a lantern in his hand, 
his pockets well filled with business-looking docu- 
ments, a slouched hat, and pleasant voice. He took 
me in charge, escorted me through the crowd and 
the darkness, and did not leave my side until he 
had placed me in a carriage, and given the driver 
strict injunctions to land me safely at the Eutaw 
House. 

The next day was spent in Baltimore, where an- 
gelic forms and voices were constantly near me, 
with words of affection, and every helpful service 
that I needed, and left me only when I was safely 
embarked on the steamboat, bound for City Point. 
Another night on the water was safely passed ; 
the full moon lent its pleasant light, the waters 
were tranquil as a " summer's sea," and sleep, un- 
disturbed as in the seclusion of home, came with 
its refreshing influences to my wearied body. 

The morning came^ and we saw the sun rise 
gloriously over Fortress Monroe. Its beams spar- 
kled from the dancing waters around that wonder- 



MY ANGELS. 163 

ful piece of masonry, the "Rip-Raps;" revealed 
the rows of big, black guns, with their ominous 
mouths pointing towards us, and gilded the " stars 
and stripes" floating over the " strong tower" oc- 
cupied by the arch-traitor Davis. 

Then came on the beautiful Indian summer day, 
and through its warm, bright atmosphere we steam 
up the James, past the long, low stretch of New- 
port News ; past Yorktown, where are seen in a little 
coppice, close to the water's edge, the remains of 
the dark brick church (only a wall with a pretty 
arch in it) in which Pocahontas was baptized ; past 
Wilson's Landing; past the Carter estate, its brick 
houses still imposing, though built in the year of 
our Lord 1670; past Harrison's Landing ; and now 
we come safely to City Point. 

During all this time my angel has been near me 
in the character of the captain of the boat, whom 
I have recognized as an old acquaintance, and who 
makes all safe and comfortable for me until I find 
myself in the train for our short railroad ride to 
Petersburg. 

Thus the journey, which I anticipated only with 
gloomy foreboding, turns out something very much 
like a pleasure excursion, through the human angels 
who attend my way. 

For how much of their kindness I am indebted 
to the influence of supernatural beings, is not for 
me to say. It would be pleasant, indeed, to believe 



164 MY ANGELS. 

that, when following a kindly impulse towards our 
fellows, we are yielding ourselves to the guidance 
of some of that celestial host who by 

" Thousands at His bidding speed, 
And post o'er land and ocean without rest," 

and who through our hands, our feet, our tongues, 
accomplish their heavenly ministrations. 

Oh, ye young and brave, to whom the grass- 
hopper is not yet a burden, and no fear is in the 
way, befriend the timid and unprotected. Lend the 
help of your good right arm and your strong hand 
to the lonely stranger whom you meet in the rail- 
car, the crowded station, or the steamboat. 

So for the time shall you be to her as the Angel 
OF God. 



CHAPTER II. 

POPLAR SPRINGS. 

Encampment of Freed People, 1 
Poplar Springs, Va., December 4, 1865. J 

IN the winter of 1864-5 the Fiftieth New York 
Engineer Regiment, belonging to the Sixth 
Corps, was encamped near Poplar Springs, about 
four miles from Petersburg. Here they constructed 
a camp not surpassed in beauty and convenience 
by any in the Army of the Potomac. 

In the midst of a beautiful pine grove they cleared 
a spot of from one to two acres for the head-quarters' 
houses. This space was levelled, beaten, and sanded, 
until it became hard and smooth as a house-floor. 
At the head of this space, and overlooking the en- 
campgaent, was a row of houses for the Colonel and 
his staff-officers, and opposite them, across the level 
area, another row for the line officers. At right 
angles to these, running out into the pine grove, 
and parallel to each other, were the streets, on each 
side of which were the neat little log-cabins of the 
private soldiers. They were laid out with perfect 
regularity, and brought by skilful labor to the same 
degree of smoothness and hardness as the open 
space above. The officers' quarters were all of the 

165 



l66 POPLAR SPRINGS. 

stockade order, the pine logs being split, and placed 
on the inside, so that, when cemented by the natu- 
ral mortar of the country, they give the deep brown 
color of the bark, externally, while within the walls 
are of a clear, light yellow. The fronts were 
finished off with pines, of about two inches in diam- 
eter, split, laid closely together, and nailed on the 
flat surface, covering the cement, and giving a plain 
brown color to the whole. 

But the chief object of attraction is the church, 
standing at one end of the open area, and fronting 
inwardly; built in the form of the heavy cross, 
which was the badge of the Sixth Corps ; of the 
same general structure as the houses ; its front, and 
arched doorway and windows, ornamented with the 
same exquisite work of slender pines, in their 
native brown ; its belfry bearing the beautiful 
badge of the Engineer Corps ; its graceful spire, 
outreaching by twice their height the tallest of 
the surrounding pines, — it produces the effect of a 
pretty little antique Gothic. 

They had scarcely brought their camp to the per- 
fection at which they aimed, when, with the news of 
Lee's surrender, came the order for the regiment to 
move, and, pleasant as was the prospect of peace 
and home, they left the scene of their pleasant 
labors with many a fond regret. 

To them succeeded a part of the Second Penn- 
sylvania Heavy Artillery, who occupied the camp 



POPLAR SPRINGS. 167 

a part of the summer, leaving, when they moved, a 
detail of men to guard the buildings until the camp 
and its environs, including several square miles, 
were taken possession of by the Freedmen's Bureau. 
Here are now collected five or six hundred of the 
colored people, just escaped from the ** barbarism 
of slavery," who being, as one may say, in the in- 
fancy of manhood, the Government, like a " cher- 
ishing mother," is holding by the hand until they 
shall be able to go alone. 

The representatives of the Freedmen's Bureau in 
this department are doing for them all that they can ; 
the National Freedman's Relief Association is do- 
ing all it can ; friends in England have done much 
by sending quantities of stout under-garments ; and 
yet, such is their destitution and suffering, that 
I doubt if to most of these poor humans, whose 
" masters were worser to them after the war began, 
and so they done runned away," the exchange is 
not a leap *' from the frying-pan into the fire." They 
are, in general, willing to work, but the old slavoc- 
racy will not employ them if it can possibly do 
without, and they have a horror of going North. 
Still, of the five or six hundred collected in and 
about this encampment, only about one hundred 
and fifty draw Government rations, the remainder 
contriving in some way to subsist themselves. 

" Did you have a good master in North Caro- 
lina?" I asked of a carpenter who was making 



l68 POPLAR SPRINGS. 

some repairs on my quarters. "Yes, madam; as 
the general run of them goes in that country, I 
can't say but I did." *' Would you not have done 
better to stay with him ? " " Oh, no, indeed, madam. 
I'm bound to believe I can do better to have my 
own labor. To earn a hundred dollars for another 
man, and not get a hundred cents for yourself, is 
poor business." 

Walking around their quarters, and looking into 
their little huts, one sees pitiable signs of destitution 
and suffering, but hears no desire to return to the 
old masters. 

" That," said a bright, young, yellow woman to 
me, to-day, pointing to a very black, coarse-looking 
one, *' is the woman that done set my house afire 
and burnt up my little baby." 

" Set your house afire! what did she do that for?" 

"Well, mistus, in de fus place, she done stole 
some meat what 'longs to me; then she stole some 
clo's what 'longs to me ; and I tole her of it, and 
she quarrelled with me about it, and said she 'd be 
'venged on me ; and so, one day, while I was gone 
to the spring to get some water, she done took a 
great coal of fire and put it into my bunk, and the 
wood and straw was so dry that it blazed right up, 
and when I got back, the roof was all burnt in and 
my little baby was burnt to death. I put my hand 
into the fire to pull her out, and that 's what makes 
it so lame now." 



POPLAR SPRINGS. 169 

" How do you know that this woman set your 
house on fire ?" 

" Because, mistus, there was nobody else near 
but her and her boy; and he stands to it that he 
saw her put the fire into my bunk." 

" How old was your baby ?" 

" Going on two months, mistus ; and I feels right 
sorry about it, for it was a mighty handsome little 
baby ; everybody took a fancy to her, and said she 
was the nicest baby in camp. I 'se used to work 
all my life, and I loves to work, and I scuffled hard 
for the things what she stole from me, and I allers 
keeps my chrllun looking nice ; the Captain praises 
me mightily. Now I 'se lost everything ; but I 
would n't mind, if she had n't burnt up my little 
baby." 

This is a dark picture, but we must remember 
that slavery is degrading, and that degradation 
means sin and crime. 

" I 'se had twelve chillun," said a poor woman, 
" sitting by her lone," " and they 'se all sold away 
from me, down to New Orleans. I don't know 
what has become of one of 'em. It hurts me 
mightily to think of 'em." 

Looking around the walls of her hut, at the vari- 
ety of '* old traps " she had brought with her, I saw 
a pair of cards, such as in old times used to accom- 
pany the spinning-wheel 
IS 



I/O POPLAR SPRINGS. 

"And SO you brought your cards along, aunty; 
did you think you would find cotton here?" 

" Oh, no, honey, I fetched 'em from Car'lina for 
my ha'r. They is what we combs our ha'r with." 

" How old are you, aunty?" 

" I can't say 'zactly, honey ; but I knows I 'se 
mighty old." 

In the spacious building erected for the Colonel's 
quarters, a school is just established under the aus- 
pices of the New York National Freedman's Relief 
Association, where more than a hundred of all ages 
congregate daily, eager to obtain that dangerous 
thing, especially in the eyes of their zvorscr masters, 
** a little learning." Last evening, hearing the 
sounds of a prayer-meeting in the school-room, I 
walked across the open area to the place. The 
grounds were white under the light of the full 
moon. The pretty church, with its heavenward- 
pointing spire, stood clearly revealed on my right. 
The encircling pine grove, moved by a gentle south 
wind, murmured its unceasing music. As I stepped 
across the threshold of the arched doorway, I saw 
that the room was crowded, so that I could with 
difficulty obtain a standing place within. They 
were engaged in singing, the audience, all around 
the sides of the room, standing, accompanying the 
music with a swaying motion of the body like a 
dancing measure, while the centre was occupied by 
mourners kneeling on the floor so near to each 



POPLAR SPRINGS. I7I 

other, and their heads bowed so low, that they 
formed a complete mosaic of old hoods, turbans, 
Shaker bonnets, and the light calico rags in which 
they are clothed; for these poor creatures, in coming 
up out of the house of bondage, unlike their Egyp- 
tian prototypes, brought no *' spoils of silver, or 
gold, or raiment." 

Their music was a jargon of unearthly sounds, in 
which the words, " lined out " by the leader, seemed 
of little account. Sometimes you catch a few lines, 

such as — 

■» 

" My soul was grieved and full of woe, 
Alas ! I know no where to go." 

" He lead me to Mount Cal-va-ree, 
And showed how good he was to me." 

" His temple locks all stained with blood. 
And every minit was one hour." 

Sometimes it would change to a livelier measure, 
as — 

" I thank God I 'm bound to die, 
Glory, Hallelujah! 
O sinners, min' how you step on the cross, 

Glory, Hallelujah ! 
O Chrishuns, min' how you walk on the cross, 
Glory, Hallelujah!" 

Continued, with many repetitions, half an hour, 
then there was a vehement exhortation to the 
mourners to surrender their hearts immediately, a 



172 POPLAR SPRINGS 

reproof to any who might be tired of kneeling, re- 
minding them at the same time that " allers when 
the Lord build a church, the devil build a chapel 
close by." 

Then Sister Nancy Brooks was called on to pray, 
and her desires were expressed after this manner : 
" O Father Almighty, O sweet Jesus, most gloriful 
King, will you be so pleased to come dis way, and 
put your eye on dese yere poor mourners. O sweet 
Jesus, ain't you de Daniel God ? Did n't you de- 
liber the tree chillun from de firy furnis ? Did n't 
you hear Jonah cry from de belly of de whale? 
Oh, if dere be one seeking mourner here dis after- 
noon, if dere be one sinking Peter, if dere be one 
weeping Mary, if dere be one doubting Thomas, 
won't you be so pleased to come and deliber them? 
Won't you mount your Gospel horse an' ride roun' 
de souls of dese yere mourners, and say, 'Go in 
peace, and sin no more.' Won't you be so pleased 
to come wid de love in one hand, and de fan in de 
odder han', to fan away doubts ? Won't you be so 
pleased to shake dese yere souls over hell, and not 
let'em fall in?" 

But of all indescribable things, nothing is more 
so than a religious meeting of these freed people, 
for, although a few words may be caught up and 
remembered, their peculiar turn of expression and 
utterance, their cries and groans and vehement 
gesticulations, forming a wonderful combination of 



POPLAR SPRINGS. I73 

the solemn and grotesque, can never be reduced to 
language. The excitement increases to the end, 
when some of the mourners are, at times, so ex- 
hausted by the strength of their emotions that they 
must be assisted to their huts, where they spend 
a great part of the night in alternate sobs and 
praise, and the next day are *' monstrous bad, with 
misery in the back and head." 

Yet this is their worship. Their meetings are 
conducted with the greatest solemnity and sincer- 
ity; they constitute their "religious privileges," and 
with such spiritual help many are daily passing into 
the unseen world. 
15* 



CHAPTER III. 

DOMESTIC RELATIONS OF THE FREEDMEN. 

THE domestic relations of the freedmen, if in- 
deed they can be said to have any, are, to use 
one of their own expressions, " the most twistedest 
up" affairs conceivable. This, however, is one of 
the legitimate fruits of slavery, and it will take 
many generations of freedom to bring them out of 
their present condition of chaos. What most sur- 
prises one in this connection is, that families having 
no legal bond hang together as well as they do. 

" My husband and I have lived together fifteen 
years," says the mother of a large family of chil- 
dren, " and we wants to be married over again now." 

" I have lived with my husband twenty-one years," 
says another. " He has always been good to me, 
and my ways have pleased him, and so we are both 
satisfied." *' She is my fifth wife," says an old 
man, of the present incumbent of his bed and 
board, " and I believe I could live with her any- 
where." 

** They kept my husband away from me three 
years," says Judy, " and tried to make me marry 
another man, but I wouldn't do it. They couldn't 
make me love anybody but Sam ; of course they 

174 



DOMESTIC RELATIONS. I75 

couldn't, and I wouldn't marry anybody else. But 
if my master found him on his grounds, he'd whip 
him ; and if his master knew of his being away 
from home, he 'd whip him ; and then they sold 
him away, and I could n't hear where he was. 
After he had been gone three years, I was sick, and 
master sent me to the doctor's to be cured. One 
night I heard some one knocking at my doe, and I 
called out, * Who 's thar ? ' — ' Sam ! ' — ' Sam who ? ' — 

* You would n't know any better than you does now, 
if I tol' you. I want to find the way to Dr. T.'s.' — 

* You is at Dr. T.'s now, but who is you ?' — ' My name 
is Sam, but they call me Sam Beverly.' (They did 
call him Sam Beverly, because he 'longed to Miss 
Harrit Beverly.) Then I got out of bed, and 
crawled to the doe, and opened it, and I says, * Sam, 
is this you ? ' and he caught me in his arms, and 
says, * Judy, is this you ? ' and I was so glad, and 
after that I could n't get well fast enough. He had 
been sold back into that part of the country, and 
had got leave to come up to the doctor's to see his 
wife. Then he coaxed his master to buy me ; and 
we have lived together ever since, and that was 
eleven years ago. My owner said he would n't sell 
me if I was well; but he thought I was going to die, 
and sold me off his hands, so as not to lose me 
entirely." 

Yet, among many remarkable instances of family 
devotion and constancy, we must not be surprised 
to find occasional exceptions. 



176 DOMESTIC RELATIONS 

*' Do you think," I asked of a sick woman, "that 
your husband will ever return to take care of you 
and his little children ? " " Do' know, missus; men 
is so kind o* queer like; 'pears like dar's no 'pending 
on 'em any how." 

" My husband done lef me for good," said an- 
other. " 'Pears like men is n't studyin' 'bout one 
woman now days, dey 's studyin' 'bout two or three." 
These uncharitable remarks were doubtless aimed 
only at persons of their own color, and intended to 
have no wider application. 

" Why in the world," I asked of a sensible woman, 
who was calling her boy "Jeff Davis," across the 
way, " did you give that name to your child ?" " I 
didn't want to call him so, missus; but ole master 
named him, and I couldn't help it; I wanted to call 
him Thomas." *' You had better change it now, 
and not compel him to bear that name through life. 
He will be ashamed of it when he grows up." " Yes, 
missus ; I think I '11 call him Thomas Grant." They 
invariably give their names Tom, Billy, Jack; and 
when interrogated as to their patronymics, hesitate, 
as if trying to invent a name, and then give that of 
their former owner, or the town or county from 
whence they come. Or they will answer, " My 
name is Peter, but my title is Raleigh ; " or, " My 
name is Mary, but they call me Branch." It is not 
unusual to find in a family of half a dozen children, 
as many shades of color and as many different 
titles. 



OF THE FREEDMEN. I77 

Still greater is the uncertainty as to age. '^ I am 
seventeen or seventy," says a young woman ; and 
a middle-aged man asks for something for his old 
mother, " thirty years old." The dates from which 
they reckon are, Christmas, planting time, Fourth 
of July, and corn time ; and the unlucky waif who 
does not make his advent at one of these epochs, 
must date from that nearest. From the mixed 
character of his domestic relations has perhaps 
arisen the charge that the negro is wanting in nat- 
ural affection. 

That there should be some grounds for such ac- 
cusation does not appear strange, when we con- 
sider that to the slave an increase of children is 
only an increase of gain to the pocket of his owner. 
The child born under bondage belongs neither to 
father nor mother, but to master. The parents can- 
not even select a name for it, and are sure of pos- 
sessing it only during the first month. After that 
their only parental privilege is to labor at odd 
moments for its maintenance; and at any day it 
may be separated from them forever by sale or 
division of estate. This, they say, is so much 
worse than death, ** because, when your child dies, 
you know where it is ; but when he is sold away, 
you never know what may happen to him." 

" My master was the father of two of my girls," 
says a freed- woman; "and when they were both 

dead, he whipped me because I said I was glad of 

M 



1/8 DOMESTIC RELATIONS 

it. But I was glad, for I had seen them suffer with 
sickness, and I knew if they had lived, master would 
sell them away from me as he had the others, but 
when they were dead he could not mistreat them, 
as he had mistreated me." That the negro is ca- 
pable of the truest and most devoted affection, and 
that his heart, in absence, is afflicted with the same 
longing for kindred as the heart which throbs under 
a white skin, is attested by abundant proof. Wit- 
ness the anxiety of mothers peering into every 
strange face, to see if they can discern some trace 
of the long-lost child; their agonized expressions, 
when attempting to relate the horrible tale of sepa- 
ration ; old men begging to have letters written to 
the place where their boys were last heard from ; 
children undertaking long and tiresome journeys 
because they cannot repress the yearning to see 
once more the face of the old father or mother, if 
peradventure they be yet alive. 

Looking out one cold day in January, I saw an 
old cart-body with a mule attached to it, standing 
at the door of a cabin, whose occupant was suffer- 
ing from a chronic disease that had disabled her 
for life. On inquiry, I found that her sister and 
brother-in-law had come a distance of seventy miles, 
in this crazy old vehicle, over the rough winter 
roads, to take her and her two little children home, 
so that the family might all be near to their aged 
mother. They had *' made corn enough to last 



OF THE FREEDMEN. I79 

them iintivcll corn time again," and had no doubt 
of being able to provide for all. The next morn- 
ing was cold and frosty, but they started off at an 
early hour on the journey which would occupy two 
or three days, the invalid lying in the bottom of the 
wagon, the younger child sitting by her side, while 
the brother, sister, and elder child walked. Where, 
in the annals of our own race, can we find an ex- 
ample of more affectionate self-sacrifice? Return- 
ing to camp, one morning, from a ride of a few miles 
in the country, I overtook an old man walking in 
the same direction, and, entering into conversation 
with him, found that he was in search of a daughter 
who had been separated from him and her mother, 
when an infant of a few months, by division of 
estate. From that time he had had no certain news 
of her, though he had all the time reason to think 
that she was not far away. For the last three 
years he had been travelling through Nottoway, 
Dinwiddle, Chesterfield, and Amelia counties, push- 
ing his inquiries wherever his limited means would 
allow, but he had obtained no clue to her until last 
night, when he received a letter telling him that 
she was at Poplar Grove Encampment, the mother 
of three children. I inquired her name, and told 
him that I knew her well, and would lead him to 
her house. So riding up to the little cabin under 
the tall trees, I called her out and presented her to 
her father. The iron yoke of servitude has made 



l80 DOMESTIC RELATIONS 

them undemonstrative, and their emotions are ex- 
pressed only by a clasping of hands, and a mute, 
inquiring gaze into each other's faces. Presently 
the little grand-daughter walks up, a pretty quad- 
roon child of eight or nine years, with glossy black 
curls, a tin vessel of water poised on her head. 
*' Lucy Ann, this is your grandfather." The child, 
still preserving the poise, lays her hand in that of 
the old man, with "howdy', grandfather?" He im- 
mediately begins to talk about taking them home 
to the mother, at Nottoway, and in a few days they 
are gone. Instances of this kind are constantly 
occurring, where the magnetism of kinship, as 
strong in the black man as in the white, is drawing 
together and reuniting family circles, with which 
slavery has made such fearful havoc. The kind- 
ness of the colored people towards orphans and 
homeless children is remarkable, and in this respect 
their humanity often puts to shame that of the 
whites. Perhaps the sad experience of their race in 
the rending of domestic ties, and the sorrows of or- 
phanage, may account for the tenderness with which 
they regard these unfortunates, and the readiness with 
which they place them among their own children, 
and divide with them their scanty morsel. Not 
long since, an old man came into camp, bringing in 
his arms a child of about two years (having walked 
with her twelve miles), which he said he found a 



OF THE FREEDMEN. l8l 

year ago last Christmas, in one of the owner's out- 
houses, left entirely alone. 

He had kept her ever since, and the family had 
grown so fond of her, that nothing but poverty 
compelled him now to part with her. " But where 
are her father and mother?" "As to her father," 
he said, glancing at her light skin and smooth, 
auburn hair, " he would n't acknowledge her if he 
could be found; and the mother, they told me, was 
compelled to leave the place by barbarous treat- 
ment." The child had evidently been well cared 
for, and when the old man set her down, and turned 
reluctantly away, she cried bitterly at being left 
behind, but a good old aunty in camp immedi- 
ately adopted her, and she is now perfectly happy 
with her new " mammy." 
i6 



CHAPTER IV. 

RELICS OF BARBARISM. 

January 8, 1866. 

LIVING in an encampment of freed people 
affords one a rare opportunity of observing 
the general effects of slavery. Here the monster 
" being dead, yet speaketh," through thousands of 
prisoners come up out of the prison-house, and his 
ugly apparition stalks in broad daylight, revealed 
in all its hideous proportions. 

Here are seen men and women, literally children 
of a hundred years, whose intellects have been 
dwarfed and held down by the hard hand of oppres- 
sion; and here, young women, comely in person, 
refined in feeling, sensitive in nature, bearing on 
their bodies the marks of the master's lash, admin- 
istered by his own hand, and he at once their father 
and the father of their children. As I walk about 
the encampment, I often look into the little hut 
where poor old Si Gillis, nearly blind, sits before 
his lonely hearth, holding out his hands to the fire, 
as if to obtain a little of its warmth were his only 
remaining earthly consolation. He is very tall, 
though now bent by the weight of years ; his fea- 

182 



RELICS OF BARBARISM. 183 

tures are regular, and he must once have had a noble 
physique. 

" How old are you, uncle?'' 

" Eighty-three years old, madam." 

" Were you a free man before the war ? " 

" Oh, no, madam. I Ve been a slave, a dead slave, 
all my life." 

" Would not your master take care of you after 
you had served him so long?" 

" No, madam ; he always worked me hard, and 
kept me hard, and at last he died himself If he'd 
a' lived, he 'd a' made me knock as long as I could 
a' knocked, and then he 'd a' shoved me off with a 
piece of bread, only enough to keep me from starv- 
ing — just as he did my brother, who was a hun- 
dred years old when he died, and had been a slave 
all his life." 

" Did you have a family, uncle ?" 

"Yes, madam; I had children, and grand-children, 
and great grand-children, but they were all sold 
away from me; and I don't know where one of them 
is but my daughter that lives in Petersburg, and 
she 's a cripple." 

So, day after day, the old man sits alone in the 
docility of second childhood, with nothing in the 
past but his slave life, and in the present, solitude 
and poverty. Yet he believes in God, and hopes for 

" Some humble heaven, 
Where slaves once more their native land behold, 
No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold." 



184 RELICS OF BARBARISM. 

" It is some comfort," he says, " that he will die 
a free man ; " and when I take to his cabin a slight 
gift of food or clothing, his ** Thank you, madam, 
thank you, madam, thank you, madam," follows me 
as far as I can hear down the walk. 

Near to him lives old Biddy Williams. 

" She was raised," she says, ** and always lived 
with the first quality of white folks." She passed 
through several generations of the same family, 
who were all very good to her, but they died, and 
she is left penniless and alone. Then all the nice 
things that her " last missus " gave her were stolen 
from her, and now her sole dependence is on the 
charity of strangers. 

Her mother was brought from Africa in a large 
slave-ship, at the age of ten years, and had filled 
Biddy's retentive memory with many tales and cus- 
toms of that happy land beyond the sea, where 
they had plenty of corn and meat, and everything 
that heart " could wish ; " where the slave-men that 
Biddy used to see, when she was a child, in Rich- 
mond, with their faces tattooed, were the highest 
quality of gentle folks, and where, when young 
children died, they were buried near the highway, 
and every one that passed their graves for a twelve- 
month threw on them a green twig or flower. 

" I was born, missus, the year that Gen. Wash- 
ington's war broke up. Which was first, missus, 
Gen. Washington's war or Gen. Braddock's?" 



RELICS OF BARBARISM. 185 

"Gen. Braddock's." 

*' And what does dey all call dis yere last war?" 

" The war of the Great Rebellion." 

" Well, missus, what will dey call the nex' war?" 

** I hope we will not have another war, Biddy." 

" Oh, dear, you tink so, missus? I 'se mighty glad, 
for dey all told me dere would be de wussest war 
ob de whole dis year." 

To-day, in the midst of the cold, driving rain, 
Biddy knocks at the door of my log-cabin. 

" Oh, missus, can you give me some shoes and 
stockings ? My feet is so cold, and I has nobody to 
get my wood and rations, and I 'se 'bliged to go 
out in the rain, and my clo's is so thin dat de cold 
goes all through my body." 

" Come in, and stand by my fire, Biddy, and I 
will see what I can do for you." 

Looking among the remnants of the last box I 
received from kind friends at the North, filled with 
gifts for these poor outcasts, I find shoes, stockings, 
warm underclothing, and a hood, with which I tell 
Biddy to go home, and make herself comfortable 
as speedily as possible. 

" Oh, thank you, missus, thank you, dear missus. 
God bless you ; you certainly has holp me mightily. 
When is you g'wine away from yere, missus?" 

" I don't know, Biddy. Not very soon, I hope." 

" Oh, please don't you go and leave us, missus ; 
you is our missus and mammy too." 
16* 



l86 RELICS OF BARBARISM. 

" I lacks nine years of being a hundred, missus," 
says Violet Hastings, who still stands erect, and 
has a pleasant countenance, though very black ; 
" and, O missus, I 'se been de hardest working old 
nigger ever you see. None of your mean niggers, 
either, dat you has to keep a beating all de time. 
When you tells me what you wants done, you may 
go 'way, and when you comes back you finds it all 
done — des so; and den when I 'd worked so hard 
for 'em all, missus, to have 'em turn me off without 
a piece of bread, or a rag of clo's — dat grieves me 
to de heart. Col. Kit Haskins is de youngest of 
my set o' white folks, and he 's a gran' daddy, and 
he said he could n't keep me to sit down and do 
nothing, and I might go and get the Yankees to 
take care of me; so he drove me off. I used to be 
somebody, but I 'se come down mighty low now. I 
often prays de Lord to let me die, but he does n't 
hear dat prayer — he don't mind my humors." 

" How many children have you had, Violet?" 

" Seventeen, missus." 

"And how many husbands ?" 

*' Only one, missus ; and there nebber was a poor 
old nigger had a better husband than I did. I lived 
with him thirty years ; smack up to the time he 
died ; and now ought n't it to be a great pleasure 
to me to think he was always kind, and that there 
nebber was one jarring word between us?" 

" Certainly it should. Good-bye, Violet." 



RELICS OF BARBARISM. iS/ 

"Far'well, my kind missus, far'well, far'well. I 
hope we will meet in heaven, if we don't meet here 
again." 

" I hope so, too, Violet. I shall be real glad to 
see you there." 

" I 'm sure we shall know each other." 

*' Yes, indeed, Violet. Good-bye." 

On the same street with these lives Charley 
White, preacher, and leader of prayer-meetings, 
his countenance beaming with good nature, and 
enjoying the reputation of being s^nart as well as 
devout. He regrets that he cannot read, but knows 
a heap of hymns. Would like me to give him a 
good shirt and hat, that " I may look kinder decent 
when I goes among folks," and talks of " making a 
prescription to buy a pair of shoes." 

He was a slave up to the fall of Petersburg, has 
changed masters many times, and seems to think 
it a grand joke that he is no longer a salable 
article. 

" How much did you bring at the sale, Charley ?" 

" The last time I was sold, missus, they put me 
on the block, here at Petersburg two years ago 
come June, and sold me for four hundred dollars in 
Confederate money. Dat was only forty dollars in 
gold, yah, yah, yah, he, he, he," and I leave him 
half convulsed with his yah, yahs, he, hes. 

Walking half a mile from the camp, across the 
track of a demolished railroad, which a year ago 



l88 RELICS OF BARBARISM. 

was in constant use, carrying supplies from City 
Point to our great army investing Petersburg, I 
came to a little settlement of the more enterprising, 
who are determined, if possible, to make a living 
for themselves. Some do so by " odd jobs " in the 
town. Some by digging lead balls, with which 
many of the hills around are as thickly sown as 
corn-fields after the spring's planting. 

A woman, whose only clothing for herself and 
little daughter for the last two years has been old 
tenting, or other refuse of camps, patched together, 
tells me, '' I and my husband digs balls all the 
week, and Saturday we sells them for two dollars 
and a half, and buys corn-meal and old bacon. We 
thought we would n't bother the Government to 
give us anything, it has so many to take care of; 
and we has taken care of ourselves ever since j^o?c 
alls came into Petersburg." 

Marth Wiley stands leaning over the fence which 
surrounds her little cabin. I declined her invita- 
tion to ''walk in," but stand and talk with her in the 
pleasant sunshine. She is a handsome quadroon 
woman, with large, black eyes and a very sweet 
voice. The little mulatto girl, Etta, with her mo- 
ther's eyes, and hair like an infinity of cork-screws 
set thickly over her head, looks up at me wonder- 
ingly, as I take a slender twig from her hand and 
run it through the rows of woolly screws, not crisp 
and hard like the hair of most colored children, 
but soft and pliable as down. The father is at his 



RELICS OF BARBARISM. 189 

daily toil, and Andrew, the pretty octoroon boy, in 
whose face you can hardly discern a trace of the 
African, is at school. Remarking on the difference 
of complexion in the two children, draws from 
Martha some account of her slave life. 

Her master is a wealthy physician in Dinwiddle. 
He is her father, and the father of her boy Andrew. 
Also the father of her brother and sister, and of 
her sister's two children. Yet he never gave them 
a " string of clothing " for their children. For this 
they were obliged to " scuffle " as they could, at the 
same time working hard for the doctor's family. 
She and Wiley had always loved each other, but 
the doctor never allowed him to visit her. His 
visits were always by stealth, and when discovered 
were succeeded by a whipping from her master, 
"with raw-hide, paddle, strap, or switch." At 
length came the "year of jubilee;" but Wiley 
could not come away without Martha because he 
loved her, and Martha could not come without An- 
drew because she loved him ; so they came, bring- 
ing the two children, who are equally dear to her ; 
and the freed bondsman is working hard to earn 
bread for the son of the wealthy doctor. 

These are not extreme or exceptional, but only 
representative cases of such as we meet everywhere 
among the freedmen. They are but the natural 
outgrowth of that " pecuHar institution " which, 
four years ago, Vice-President Stephens declared to 
be the " Corner-stone of the Confederacy." 



CHAPTER V. 

A BAY WITH THE FREED MEN. 

February 8, 1866. 

QUITE early this morning, before I had arisen 
from the breakfast-table, there were several 
knocks at my door, by people of whom it was almost 
literally true that they had " nothing to wear." 

Good human creatures, too, made of the same 
kind of clay as yourself, Miss Flora McFlimsey, 
with the same capacities for suffering and enjoy- 
ment, and, according to their conditions, just as 
anxious to make a good appearance in the world. 

My little waiting-maid, Lucy, put several of them 
off with information that " Miss Charlotte was at 
breakfast ; " but one, more importunate than the rest, 
pressed her claims so resolutely that Lucy was 
obliged to succumb. By this time, having finished 
my breakfast, I went to the door, and found an aged 
woman, who, I afterwards learned, rejoiced in the 
aristocratic name of Isabella Pegram. She was of 
low stature, her garments clean and tidy, though 
made up of patches in which white predominated; 
the blue cape of a military coat buttoned around 
her shoulders, with its bright brass buttons, a close 
hood, made of some dark material, drawn tightly 

190 



A DAY WITH THE FREEDMEN. IQI 

down over her withered features, and a heavy walk- 
ing-stick in her hand. 

*' Good morning, aunty; how are you ? " 

" Only tol'able, thank you, missus ; how is your- 
self? " 

*' Quite well, I thank you ; what do you wish 
for?" 

** I 's a lady that 's never been to see you before, 
and I wants, if you please, ma'am, to get some 
clo'se for myself and my three little gran'children. 
They 's motherless chillun, and has nobody to take 
care of 'em but me." 

" How far have you walked this morning, aunty?" 

" Three miles, missus." 

" Then you must be tired ; come in and rest a 
little." 

" 'Deed, missus, I 'se mighty tired, and painified 
in my limbs, too," and, declining the proffered 
chair, she seats herself humbly on the hearth, in 
my chimney-corner. 

" How old are you, aunty ? " 

" I don't know, missus, how old I is; but I knows 
I is n't young, 'cause I has so many old folk's pains." 

" You ought not to be out this cold morning, 
with your painified limbs." 

'"Pears like it's been mighty cold ever since 
Christmas, but we could n't 'spect any thing else, 
'cause it was such pious weather all afore Christ- 
mas, and what can't be holp must be enjured!' 



192 A DAY WITH THE FREEDMEN. 

I was now ready to go to the store-room, whither 
I was followed by the retinue that had been wait- 
ing around the door, all wishing "to draw," and 
from whence I had scarcely dismissed Isabella, 
with a big bundle of such articles as I thought 
adapted to her wants, when a woman of Amazonian 
proportions pressed through the crowd. 

" Here 's I, missus. I 'se the lady that spoke to 
you last night ; and you promised me some things 
for myself and my two gran' chillun. I walked 
yesterday from crack o'day till sun-doWn, ten miles, 
to come to you, 'cause I heard you had some things 
to give to we all. This coat as I has on I borrowed 
from a neighbor, and my little gran' chillun is a* 
most stark naked. I 'se done men', an men', an' 
men,' an' men'. I 'se got to walk back to-day, so 
please, ma'am, discharge me as soon as you can. 
Here 's my ticket." Saying which, she held out a 
bit of paper on which was neatly written, in a lady's 
hand, "Judy Green — sixty years old. Has been 
the mother of seventeen children. Has had her 
right arm broken." 

Having "discharged" Judy with a bundle as 
large as she was able to carry, and for which she 
was very grateful, assuring me. that she would come 
and see me again when the walking gets better, I 
attend to the others, and, after due inquiry into the 
circumstances, make up a bundle for each of such 
articles as they seem most to require. Some receive 



A DAY WITH THE FREEDMEN. I93 

the gifts as a matter of course, while others ahnost 
dance for joy at the sight of the warm gar- 
ments, taxing their vocabulary to the utmost for 
words to express their gratitude to me and the 
kind donors at the North, whom they "does 
love," and saying, as they turn away with their 
faces all aglow, " I '11 fetch you some more eggs. 
Miss Charlotte ; " or, " My husband says he '11 kill 
you some more oVliars;' — hares being plenty at this 
season. 

Among the applicants are Rachel Harper, who 
has been the mother of eighteen children, six of 
whom are living with her, asking Government 
rations this morning for the first time, as the leaden 
balls are "getting scacc;' and Mary Perham, a widow 
with eight children, for five of whom she draws 
rations, and " has to saiffle for the rest." 

Ann Brown, whose noble determination not to 
" bother the Government " was spoken of in a pre- 
vious letter, has come to ask for something in which 
to shroud her little girl (the last of eight children), 
who died last night. In reply to my few words of 
condolence, she says, quietly, " She said just before 
she died, * I'm going home to rest. Don't cry 
when I 'm gone, mammy.' " 

One woman wants a " dost of castor-oil " for her 
sick child; and as I take down the bottle from the 
shelf, she presents a small glass inkstand with a 
little side spout. 

17 N 



194 A DAY WITH THE FREEDMEN. 

" This is a very inconvenient vessel to take it in ; 
why did n't you bring a cup ? " 

" Hadn't any." 

" What have you besides this ? " 

" Only a small chance of old tin cans and a 
spoon." 

After the crowd had subsided a little, a nice-look- 
ing quadroon boy comes to ask for shoes. I allow 
him to come in and try on some second-hand boots, 
and he fits himself to a pair, which makes his hand- 
some eyes shine. In the meantime he tells his 
story : Was " raised in North Carolina." Was in 
the rebel army during the first two years of the war, 
waiting on his master; then was taken into the 
Union army, and waited on Federal officers. Now 
is working with his uncle near here. 

*' What is your name ? " 

"John Richards is my Sunday name; my every- 
day name, John Atrs." 

Thus passed the morning, and I had just returned 
to my log-cabin, when an Irish woman, whom I 
had known in Petersburg last summer, came in. I 
was familiar with her story. Her husband was an 
industrious, hard-working man, and, having his wife 
and five little children to support, had avoided going 
into the rebel army. To do this, he had sometimes 
been obliged to absent himself from his family, and 
remain in concealment for a month at a time. 

One evening, last winter, his wife being out of the 



A DAY WITH THE FREEDMEN. I95 

house, and he having just been up-stairs to put his 
little ones in bed, three rebel soldiers came into the 
yard and called him outside. The moment he 
appeared, they all three discharged their muskets at 
him, and he fell. He had life enough left to crawl 
into the house. "When I came home," she said, 
*' I found him lying dead across the hearth, and 
Christmas-day I buried him." The shock broke 
her heart ; but she must still struggle to get bread 
for her children. " Och, mavourneen," she said, as 
she sat down, wiping away the tears, " an' it 's hard- 
ships has driven me out to ye. I nivir tho't I could 
be so poor, or see such hard times as I have seen 
since ye went away. They stole me mule that was 
earning me three dollars a day ; then they stole me 
pigs and me hens ; and then I laid down sick, and I 
thought sure I was about to die. If it hadn't been 
for the money ye gave me when ye went away, 
we 'd all a' perished. Sure that was the dearest ten 
dollars I ever had in me life; may the Lord Al- 
mighty bless ye." 

'* I am very glad the money was useful to you ; 
but your gratitude is due to friends at the North, 
who pitied your condition, and sent the money for 
your relief." 

"Sure the people of the North is kind. I wish I 
was at the North. Here, they all look strange upon 
me. I 've been in the country now five years, and I 
know nobody." 



196 A DAY WITH THE FREEDMEN. 

I gave her a bundle of such articles as I had at 
hand for her children, and she left for her return 
walk of four miles, encouraged by the promise of 
help hereafter. 

Late in the afternoon, Sylvia Oliver comes in to 
ask me to write a letter to her " old master," from 
whom she has been absent only a few weeks. So 
I open my desk and sit down to write while she 
dictates. " Tell him it took all the money I had to 
come to Petersburg; and so I could not go any 
farther, and since I came here I have heard my 
mother is dead. Tell him I would not have left 
him, only I was so anxious to see my mother. Tell 
him, if he will send me money to come back with, 
I will try to be a faithful servant. I will try to 
make it up to him. Tell him, I had rather live with 
him and Miss Ann than any one else," 

Sylvia is intelligent, quiet, and womanly in man- 
ner, lovable and grateful in disposition. The de- 
sire to return is creditable both to herself and 
her master, to whom she is sincerely attached, and 
whom she regrets ever having left. 



CHAPTER VI. 

MV SABBAT// MORN/NG SERV/CE. 

March i8, 1866. 

THIS morning, before I had quite finished mak- 
ing my toilet, and ere the sun seemed to have 
measured a yard above the eastern horizon, the 
door of my log-cabin opened gently, and a tall, 
fine-looking man, with a basket in his hand, looked 
in, saying, " Good-morning, Miss Charlotte ; some 
eggs for your breakfast." 

Having seen this man once before, I recognized 
him, and returned his salutation with, "Good-morn- 
ing, George." He was a mulatto, with a frank, 
pleasant face, polite manners, and using just such 
language as a white gentleman would under similar 
circumstances. 

Taking the basket from his hand, I found a dozen 
eggs, laid nicely between layers of cotton, and took 
them out with a feeling akin to weeping; for I knew 
how, from day to day, they had been gathered and 
laid away for me, where many little mouths had 
watered for them, and that they were now brought 
twenty-five miles, an offering of affection. George 
lives ten miles above Dinwiddie Court-House, and 
17- 197 



198 MY SABBATH MORNING SERVICE. 

Dinwiddie Court-House is at least fifteen miles 
from here. 

" We have come once more to you, Miss Char- 
lotte," he said, " to see if you can give us a little 
help for our wives and children. We could not 
afford to lose another day from our work, so we 
started yesterday, two hours to-night, and walked 
to within six miles of the Grove, and then struck 
a fire and camped out." 

*' You are trying to make a crop for yourself 
now, are you, George?" 

** Yes, madam. I hire a piece of ground, and 
pay the owner one-fourth of the crop ; and then I 
give him two days' work out of every week for the 
use of his horse to plough my ground." 

"Were you a slave or a free man heretofore ? " 

"Always a slave, madam. I was sold out of 
Maryland into Virginia, five years ago this gone 
Christmas, and have been with my owner in Din- 
widdie ever since, until the surrender." 

His countenance fell when I told him that now, 
as when he came last week, I could give him only 
a very little help ; and at my exclamation of surprise 
that he should have taken this long walk a second 
time, he said, "You know. Miss Charlotte, that 
every little helps, and when a man has wife and 
children to work for, he is bound to make all edges 
cut, if it is only for three cents." 

Looking out on the street in front of my cabin, 
I saw a company of seventeen, — fifteen men and two 



MY SABBATH MORNING SERVICE. I99 

women, — who had come with George, and for whom 
he acted as leader and spokesman. I took their 
names and the number of persons whom they repre- 
sented, and found the aggregate to be eighty-five. 
With one or two exceptions, they were sad, earnest- 
looking men, taking up courageously the heavy 
burden which had all at once fallen upon them, and 
appreciating, just as we would, the great blessing 
of freedom. 

When I told them how sorry I was that I could 
not do more for them, because my supplies were 
limited, and great numbers coming to me daily from 
as great or greater distances, as needy as them- 
selves — that the people of the North sympathized 
with them, were anxious that they should prove 
themselves worthy of freedom, and were trying to 
help them a little now, hoping to encourage and 
give them a start, so that hereafter they can take 
care of themselves, they replied, taking off their 
poor, ragged hats, " That is what we want to do, 
missus. We are boUnd to take care of ourselves, if 
they will only give us a chance. We have worked 
to support ourselves and the Johnnies likewise ; we 
ought now to be able to support ourselves. We 
scuffle hard to get bread for our wives and children ; 
but we cannot get money to buy clothes, and we 
don't know but they '11 have to go naked yet. God 
bless the Northern people for what they are doing 
for us ! the best thing they have given us is our 
freedom." 



200 MY SABBATH MORNING SERVICE. 

Going to .my store-room, I found that, after the 
great demands of the past week, there still remained 
some valuable articles, enough to give to each a 
pair of shoes for some of the little feet at home, 
one warm garment for each household, with other 
little articles that would be acceptable where nothing 
could come amiss. 

" Thank God, and you too," they said, " for this ; " 
asking nothing for themselves, though their patched 
and ragged garments would have been a sufficient 
appeal if my stock of men's clothing had not been 
entirely exhausted. 

My heart went after them sorrowfully as they 
walked away with their little bundles, which I would 
gladly have made larger, for I knew too well the 
story of their distress, though, as some of them 
say, ** None but Christ knows all we have suffered." 

Many of the old masters, after having charged 
them with unwillingness to work, and predicted that 
they will starve, are determined that their predic- 
tions shall be verified. They hire them at the 
lowest possible rates, and withhold the stipulated 
sum when it is due. If the laborer succeeds in 
obtaining the hire for which he has worked so 
hard, it hardly suffices to buy corn-meal and bacon 
enough to keep wife and children from starving. 
To buy clothing at the present high prices is not 
to be thought of It is, therefore, no great wonder 
that, when rumor goes from neighbor to neighbor 
that these much coveted articles are to be obtained 



MY SABBATH MORNING SERVICE. 201 

by a walk of twenty-five or thirty miles, they should, 
like Joseph's starving brethren when they heard 
that there was corn in Egypt, take up the pilgrim's 
staff, and journey patiently over the weary way. 
To them it is no holiday excursion, but a measure 
to which they are driven by the sorest need. 

What strikes one as the greatest peculiarity about 
them is the incongruity between their tattered gar- 
ments and their truly polite and respectful manner. 
An old man, after walking from early dawn till 
starry eve, knocks at my door, and, as I answer the 
summons, he accosts me with all the grace of " a 
gentleman of the old school ; " always inquiring 
kindly after my health before he makes known his 
errand, — which, indeed, hardly needs to be told. 
After the customary compliments have been passed, 
bowing low with hat in hand, or finger on its ragged 
rim, he proceeds briefly and pathetically to spread 
before me the story of his poverty, of which the 
destitution of wife and children is always the bur- 
den, and begs me, " for Christ's sake, to do him a 
little good, now that he has walked so far." 

Through the constant efforts of friends at the 
North, who never weary in well-doing, I have been 
able to give something to almost every applicant. 
I know that the gifts are often received as -coming 
directly from the Father, in whom they have im- 
plicit faith that he will not forsake " his poor little 
ones," and looked upon as weapons with which they 
may a little longer keep the demon want at bay. 



Cll A r VV K \- 1 I. 

T\>n„\R SrRiNOvS, February 26, iS(>o. 

''l^O tho Contr.il ».iuirch Sabbath-School. R\ni;or. 

*■ Maine : 1 ha\ o the ploasua^ of ackno\vlodi;ini;* 
the ixvoipt ot\\ donation of t\vonty-t\vc doUars, iVom 
tlio Sabbath^School ot^ Central Chua^h. Bant^or. for 
I ho ivhef of fixxxi people of this encan>pnient. As 
NN\> naturally feel an intx^rest in those whom wo 
h.u benefited, I take it tor ^'ranted that the niem- 
bvis of the Sxibbath-sehool would like to know 
somethino^ of those who are thus made the recipi- 
ents of their charity, and 1 will therefon^^ endeavor 
to answer to some extent the question which they 
would j>orhaps ask, vi.-. : " \\ liat has boon done with 
our money ? '' 

In looking; o\or our encampment, it was found 
that there w.\s a lari;e number of old nu n. each 
livinjj in a little hut by hiu\self. all of whom wei^ 
in a sx^ty misersible condition. Their clothes and 
beddings were insufficient* and it was a very difficult 
matter tor then\ to keep up their fires, and draw 
their nxtions of soup and bread, with such assistance 
as could be rcndeaxi In order to have them pn> 
\ idod for moiv comfortably, ** the Captain/' who 



LETTER TO A S A FilJ AT II -SC 11 OO L. 203 

has chari^c of the camp, had a lonrr stockade huild- 
inij^ fitted up and furnished with bunks, where they 
could all be collected toc^ether and suitably cared 
for. I was able to furnish all necessary beddini; 
and cloth in<^ from my store-room, and, with a part 
of your money, to buy for each a nice tin-cup and 
plate, spoon, knife and fork, and various otlier arti- 
cles necessary to make them comfortable. When 
to these was added a little tobacco, they were per- 
fectly happy. One of these men is ninety-seven 
years old, and all of them nearly, if not quite, four- 
score, and they have all been slaves from their birth, 
until President Lincoln's Proclamation made them 
free. 

Sometimes, when I go to see them, I take my 
Bible, and read a few chapters to them. This is 
the greatest treat they can possibly have. They 
listen with the most earnest attention, and, as soon 
as I have finished, burst out into exclamations like 
these : — " Glory to de Lord dat I 'se heard dis yere 
word to-day!" "Glory to King Jesus!" " D.it 
is de truth dat I 'se been telling dem dis fifty year, 
dat God is light, and in him is no darkness!" "I 
knows dat is true, for he has tole me so ; my heart 
cries out dat it is true — I in you and you in me, 
you tote your burdens and I tote you ! " " I^at," 
referring to a short Psahn, " is a kinder little i)ra'ar 
to say before de shickens crows in de morning." 
" Dat entices me to look more to my Father, and 
put all my 'pendence on him." 



204 LETTER TO A S A B B ATH- SC HOOL. 

Another way in which it has afforded me great 
satisfaction to have the means of helping these peo- 
ple, is by furnishing them with potatoes for planting. 
Those who were able to secure in any way a piece 
of ground began to plough the first of February, — 
for spring has already come to us in Virginia ; and 
everywhere, as you ride about in the country, you 
may see the soft earth turned up and ready for 
planting, and tufts of fresh green grass and leaves 
springing up in all sheltered places. Many of 
those who have required assistance in this way are 
widows, whose only hope of being able to provide 
for their families is, as they say, ** to make a crap 
of corn and potatoes ; " and it has been a great 
blessing to them to be provided with seed. Two 
of these women live three miles apart. One of 
them owns a poor, old, broken-down horse, but has 
not strength to hold the plough, and is not able to 
hire help ; the other is strong and robust, but has 
no horse — so the latter follows the plough for the 
former every other day, and on the alternate days 
has the use of the horse for ploughing her own 
land. 

Already the tender plants, which contain promise 
of future subsistence, are shooting up under our 
warm skies, and in a few weeks many a sunny ridge 
and slope will be green with the precious crop 
planted through your charity. 

Another question which you will doubtless ask 



LETTER TO A SABBATH-SCHOOL. 205 

(since no one wishes to help those who will not 
help themselves), is, " Will they work ?" 

It is very true that there are among them some 
lazy ones, who prefer to beg, or live on the hard- 
tack and salt fish provided by Government, rather 
than to exert themselves, — but they are few in 
comparison with the whole. The extent and sever- 
ity of the efforts made by many before asking aid, 
and their determination to help themselves, is sur- 
prising. 

To say that the freed men and women will not 
work for their own maintenance is, I think, as great 
a libel as was ever perpetrated on any portion of 
the human race. 

It were nearer the truth to say they are agonizing 
for work, — holding out their poor, empty hands — 
already indurated by the toils of the taskmaster — 
to God, the Government, the people of the United 
States, begging, pleading, imploring that they may 
be filled with honest, remunerative labor. 

I commenced an industrial school on the 8th of 
January. It was a bitter cold day ; but thirty-four 
women were present, some having walked three or 
four miles, delighted at the prospect of earning 
something. 

It was so cold that we could not make ourselves 
comfortable in the school-room, and they took the 
work home. The garments were returned, made 
very nicely. One woman, who had the misfortune 



206 LETTER TO A S ABB AT H -SC HOO L. 

to lose her right arm, made a pair of drawers, but- 
ton-holes and all, perfectly well. 

In subsequent meetings the number has increased 
to fifty-seven. At the second meeting, after all had 
been supplied with work, and were sewing very 
quietly, I said, "Perhaps you would like me to read 
something to you." They replied, " Oh, yes, ma'am. 
Please read to us in the Bible ; we like to hear that 
better than anything else." I read at first a few 
Psalms, and then some one asked for the story of 
the crucifixion, which I read, while they sewed and 
listened attentively. Since that I always spend a 
part of the time in reading, selecting some subject 
which will furnish a text for moral instruction, such 
as they seem to require. The difficulties in the 
way of procuring work are so great, that the school 
is necessarily irregular; but whenever I can obtain 
it, they come together, always pleased to do so. 
Their industry and propriety of deportment could 
scarcely be surpassed by any ladies in any com- 
munity. Women ^Iso come to me daily from three 
or four miles around asking for work, they are so 
anxious to earn something; and they, as well as the 
men, seem to desire nothing so much as to get pos- 
session of a small piece of ground, where they may 
"make a crap of corn and 'baccy." 

During the past month the health of the camp 
has been remarkably good, and there has been less 
suffering than might have been anticipated. 



LETTER TO A S A B B AT H - SC H OO L. 20/ 

For the good order and comfortable condition 
generally prevailing, we are greatly indebted to the 
kindness and efficient management of Mr. Cochran, 
who, as agent for the Freedmen's Bureau, super- 
intends the camp. 

In conclusion, allow me to express the hope that 
the kindness shown to this most unfortunate portion 
of our countrymen, may be returned in an increased 
measure of blessing to your own hearts and homes. 

" The quality of mercy is not strain'd; 
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven, 
Upon the place beneath; it is twice bless'd — 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes," 

Yours, truly, 

C. E. McKay. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

AUNT BECKY'S TROUBLES. 
"The Short and Simple Annals of the Poor," 

THE 17th day of January, 1867, differed from 
nearly every other day that we had had in Vir- 
ginia since Christmas, only in that rain had been 
falling instead of snow, and the rain had come per- 
sistently, and in torrents, instead of drizzling as 
usual. But rain, or snow, or biting cold could not 
keep from my door applicants for charity. 

Some kind friends at the North, and in England, 
whose hearts had been touched with pity for the 
physical sufferings of the freed people, had sent 
generous supplies of warm clothing for women and 
children, and had permitted me to act as their al- 
moner. This joyful fact had been circulated among 
the people of the adjoining counties and distant 
plantations, and the possibility of procuring a warm 
skirt, or blanket, or hood, or even a few patches for 
the ragged garments of the little ones, was a suf- 
ficient inducement for undertaking a walk of ten, 
sometimes even of twenty, thirty or forty miles, 
through cold and tempest. Among the shivering, 
bedraggled victims of want and sorrow who came 
on the day above mentioned, was Aunt Becky, with 

20S 



AUNl BECKY S TROUBLES. 2O9 

two daughters, leaving the other four, with their 
three Httle brothers, in the hut four miles away, 
where I used to see them last winter. 

Aunt Becky was still young-looking, of a bright 
complexion, and had many essentials of a lady ; 
mild, dark eyes, a very sweet smile, low, soft voice, 
and a good use of language, or, in Virginia phrase, 
*' was a nice-spoken nigger." Her husband had 
been killed three years ago by the kick of a horse, 
and left her with nine children, the youngest an 
infant of a few days, the oldest, Eliza, a girl of four- 
teen years. 

My acquaintance with her had commenced on a 
cold day of the preceding winter, when one of her 
neighbors came to beg me to go to her and carry 
some medicine for Eliza, who was in a fit, they 
feared, dying. 

With such remedies as I had at hand, I hastened 
down the ravine, across the track of the military 
railroad, up to the old camping ground, where, in 
one of the little huts that Union soldiers had oc- 
cupied a year before, lived Becky with her nine 
children. Eliza, with her pretty, childish face, in 
which you could discern only the slightest tint of 
African blood, was lying on a bunk near the great 
fireplace, pale, rigid, and speechless, though with 
signs of life. Her new-born baby, having just 
died, was laid on a chest near by, shrouded in a 
few rags, not easily spared from the living. 
18* O 



210 AUNT BECKY S TROUBLES. 

The mother, with a countenance expressing that 
anguish which only mothers know, was quietly 
working over her, — rubbing her feet, rubbing her 
hands, laying her hand gently on the cold forehead, 
and striving with endearing epithets to call her 
back to life. ** Eliza, honey, does n't you know 
me? doesn't you know your mammy? Here are 
the white lady done come to see you." But it was 
all in vain. The frightened eyes rolled wildly in 
their sockets, but gave no sign of recognition. The 
next day, however, I heard she was a little better, 
and in a few weeks she was quite well. 

The next time I went to see Becky, I found her 
bolstered up in bed, taking her turn to be sick, 
while Eliza was performing the duties of nurse and 
cook. Pouring cold water on a quantity of corn- 
meal, she mixed it with her hand, then moulded it 
into balls, which she tossed from one hand to the 
other until they were well beaten, and laid them on 
the hearth to bake. These are corn-dodgers. Hoe 
cakes baked on a shovel, or hoe- and ash-cakes 
baked in hot ashes, are all made the same way. 

**I am glad to see that Eliza is well enough to 
help you," I said. 

" Yes, thank God," replied her mother. " I were 
jus' a telling her how good the Lord were to take 
the chile that were ready to go, and spar' her to 
repent of her sins. I were a'most 'stracted with 
the thought of her dying ; an' I know'd she wa'n't 



AUNT BECKY S TROUBLES. 211 

prepared. But as for me, I could n't help her den ; 
I were the blind leading the blind. But now, praise 
the Lord, He have given me new light, and done 
took the burden off my back. He have taken my 
feet out of the pit, and done set them on a rock, 
and have put a new song in my mouth, and I bless 
His name." Becky went on a long time in this 
strain of praise and joy, which, contrasted with the 
poor and low surroundings, was very touching, and 
brought tears to my eyes, but left little for me to 
say. If you could have occupied an unobserved 
corner of her hut a few evenings later, you might 
have seen Becky and her three eldest daughters 
sitting on low stools around the fire, their hands 
folded on their knees, and with many swayings to 
and fro of the body, and expressive upward glances, 
singing, — 

Shall we meet again ? 
Shall we meet again ? 
I '11 meet you in heaven to part no more. 
Sisters, far-ye-well, 
Brothers, far-ye-well, 
God Almighty bless you : 
Shall we meet again ? 

This they sang over and over again, in their own 
plaintive way, and then broke into the lively little 
refrain — 

' De bell done ring, 
De bell done ring, 
Good-morning, John the Baptist, 
De bell done ring. 



212 AUNT Becky's troubles. 

Or.- 

Sister Phoebe gone to heaven, 

De bell done ring ; 
O, I know she mighty happy, 
De bell done ring; 
Jus' got over to the heavenly land, 
De bell done ring. 

But now Becky had come to tell me her troubles, 
how she and the children, even the little ones, 
" certainly did work faithful in the corn-field ^all 
summer ; " that one day Eliza fainted with the hoe 
in her hand, and she '* were mightily afeared they 
never would be able to fetch her to ; " that " they 
made right smart of corn," but Mr. Blick, the 
owner of the land, came and took half instead of 
the fourth part, which was his just due; that little 
Edna was hired out, but was kept out in the cold so 
much that her poor little feet were frozen, and now 
she was at home unable to walk ; and to-day she 
took Eliza to town, hoping to find a place for her, 
but the lady to whom she was directed had pro- 
vided herself with a servant, and she must go back 
to her miserable home. " How is it possible," I 
ask myself, " that this poor woman, with only her 
two hands, has been able to keep ten souls and 
bodies together, through the last year of suffering 
and scarcity ? " 

Surely, He who hears the young ravens when 
they cry has been her helper. As His instrument, 
I gave her a bundle of warm clothing for herself 



AUNT BECKY S TROUBLES. 213 

and children, not forgetting a doll for little Edna; 
and with thankful hearts they retraced their way- 
homeward, through the cold, driving storm. 

I had heard nothing of Becky for several weeks, 
when one morning I recognized her face among the 
dusky crowd that pressed around my door. She 
had come, she said, hardly able to speak for the 
tears and sobs that she could not keep back, to ask 
me to please give her " something to put little 
Bella away in. She died last night." 

She had not suffered much from sickness, but had 
seemed to pine away, and grow weaker and weaker 
every day, with no appetite; and for the last week 
had not tasted food. 

" But this did n't hurt me so much," she said, "as 
the death of little Rose, six weeks ago. She got 
up and went out one night, unbeknownst to us all. 
It were that cold night when it rained and light- 
ened so. In the morning I made shor she 'd done 
gone into Aunt Maria's, and sent Eliza to fetch her 
home ; but they had n't seen her. Then we was 
mightil)/ scared, and the neighbors all turned out to 
hunt for her, and about noon they found her away 
up on the hill lying dead under a tree. I reckoned 
she started to go into Aunt Maria's, and lost her 
way, and then a jack-o'-lantern led her off" 

I remembered her as a bright little creature of 
six years, who, when I was sitting in her mother's 
cabin, would run up behind me and pluck my dress, 



214 AUNT BECKY S TROUBLES. 

and then run off to join in the shout of the merry 
group of h'ttle woolly heads that had witnessed the 
bold achievement. I was grieved to hear of her 
sad fate, and did not wonder at Becky's tears. 
When I questioned her about her circumstances, 
she said she *' had been mightily put up to get 
along." At night, they were " so scarce of kiver 
for the chillun, it seemed as if it was only God that 
kept them from freezing. In *' the freezing time, a 
few weeks ago, when the mills all done stopped, we 
couldn't get the corn ground, and jus' had to bile 
it, an' eat it so." It was not surprising that little 
Bella pined away and died. 

I gave her '' something to put away the child in," 
a blanket, and some clothing for those that were 
left, and, through the kindness of an officer of the 
Freedman's Bureau, she was provided with a coffin, 
which some of her neighbors "toted" out for her 
on their shoulders, and again, with many thanks and 
God-blessings, she turned her sorrowful steps to- 
wards the wretched little home for which, as she 
says, she has *' scuffled so hard." 



CHAPTER IX. 

REUNIONS. 

NOTHING in real life can be more touching 
and romantic than the reunions constantly 
occurring between friends and kindred long* sepa- 
rated by the inexorable decrees of slavery, the 
power that was — the grim tyrant who, having so 
long hunted down and destroyed the helpless and 
despairing, is now, at last, himself hunted down 
and vanquished. 

** I 's tinking ebry day, missus," says my patient 
old cook, Sylvia, ** dat my boy will come to me. 
He be 's a man now, if he 's living, for he were sol' 
away from me ten years ago come Christmas, an' 
he were a big boy den. Mars'r Robert were a 
mighty good mars'r; but he 'd a heap o' chillun of 
his own to provide for, and so he were forced to 
sell some of we-alls. It's a heap worse 'n death, 
losing 'em dat way. I made shor I done seen my 
boy come into camp las' night, but it turned out to 
be Aunt Peggy's boy come from North Car'lina." 

I have seldom seen a gentleman, white or black, 
with a more strikingly handsome countenance, or 
more graceful and easy address, than Napoleon 
Johnson. It is true, that, as he stood before me to 

215 



2l6 REUNIONS. 

beg clothing for his old mother and little brother, 
you could hardly have told whether the original 
material of his garments was the butternut-color 
of the plantation, the gray of the rebel, or the blue 
of the Federal uniform, so skilfully were they inter- 
mingled in patches, with bits of old tenting super- 
added here and there, sewed together with coarse, 
white yarn, and, for want of buttons, pinned with 
smooth splinters of wood ; yet, withal, clean and 
tidy. 

** But you are young, and strong for work," I said, 
'* and should be able to support your old mother 
and little brother without the help of charity." 

" Indeed, madam, I do work, day and night, to 
get bread for them," he replied, lifting his hat with 
the easy gesture and smile of a gentleman. ** I 've 
just found my old mother, and got a little place for 
her to live in ; but she has nothing to wear, and I 
cannot buy clothes for her now. You would feel 
sorry, madam, to see how naked she is. I was sold 
at sheriff's sale twenty years ago this planting time, 
into North Carolina, when I was just twelve years 
old, and have just got back to old Virginia." 

" But how did you find your mother after twenty 
years' absence?" 

" I knew where I left her, and was bound to find 
her if she was living ; so I came back to this part, 
and went up and down the country, inquiring at all 
the plantations, and looking into the faces of all the 



REUNIONS. 217 

old women I saw, until at last I found my mother's 
face." 

And so this handsome octoroon gentleman of 
thirty-two, with his soft, black eyes and musical 
voice, whose patched and many-colored garments 
cannot hide the real beauty of his soul or the ele- 
gance of his manners, has been all his life a chattel 
— standing on the auction-block, knocked off to 
the highest bidder, chained hand to hand and foot 
to foot in the gang with women and children driven 
like dumb cattle to the slave-mart, handed about 
from one to another as the representative of a 
handful of gold, ranking in his master's menage a 
little lower than his favorite dogs and horses. The 
thought is overwhelming. I turn my face from 
him for a moment, for he, with his life-long famil- 
iarity with such terrible facts, will not understand 
the meaning of these tears. 

Julia Jackson was a pretty, industrious quadroon 
woman, who had been employed in our hospital, 
and, with her little boy, occupied one of the log- 
cabins built the preceding year by Union soldiers. 
She had confided to me her expectation of being 
married in a few months to Richard Hobbs, and 
had bespoken my assistance in furnishing her 
trousseau. Soon after, Richard came to me for ad- 
vice. It seemed that the course of his and Julia's 
love was not running so smooth as could be desired. 
He really loved "Miss Julia," he said, "but she had 
19 



2l8 REUNIONS. 

turned him out because he had cut wood for another 
lady." He was now taking care of Isabella, whose 
husband had left her, — she being quite ill, and 
having no one to wait on her but himself. His 
kind attentions to Isabella, while they had aroused 
Julia's jealousy, had also kindled her repentance, 
and she, having confessed her folly, wanted him to 
come back. 

''Well, Richard, I think Julia will make you a 
very good wife ; and if she is really sorry for her 
unkindness, I advise you to go back to her." 

** Yes, Miss Charlotte, I reckoned she 'd make a 
mighty nice wife, and that we 'd be married, and 
go North with you in the spring. I thinks I '11 go 
back to her, but not now. I '11 let her wait awhile, 
seeing she done turned me out wunst." 

Not long after, Richard came to me again, one 
morning, dressed in his ** Sunday clothes," his pants 
tucked nicely under his high boots, and his toilet 
complete with the exception of a collar, for which, 
as he said, he had come to ask me. 

" Are you going to be married to-day, Richard ?" 

" No, missus, not to-day. I '11 go and look after 
my wife, Emmeline, and the children fust." 

" Your wife and children, Richard ! You never 
told me you were married." 

" No, Miss Charlotte, I did n't tol' you, because 
I 'se been away from my wife two years, an' I 
thought she were married ag'in by this time. But I 



REUNIONS. 



219 



seen a boy in camp last night that done come from 
Brunswick county, whar she live ; and he say she 
are having a mighty hard time of it, and want me 
to come back. So I '11 go." 

"And so, Richard, you love Emmeline better 
than any of these * ladies ' to whom you have been 
so attentive here ? " 

'' Well, missus, to tell you the truth, if Emmeline 
had got another husband, I would n't mind marry- 
ing one of these ladies ; but I feels for her and for 
my two little chillun. I wants to h^ far an' honest 
about it, and I can't rest till I go and see how it is 
with them. If she is n't married, I '11 get her and 
the chillun out, if I can ; and if she has got another 
man, I '11 fotch the chillun here, and marry one of 
these ladies, — Miss Julia, I thinks ; she wants me 
so mighty bad." 

On further inquiry, I learned that Richard had 
left his wife in slavery two years before, near the 
Weldon railroad, about seventy miles south of our 
camp. That he had availed himself of a " pamid'' 
(raid) of Union cavalry, to escape from the bond- 
age which he did not then know was so soon to be 
lifted from his race. That he had heard afterwards 
that his young master had threatened to shoot him 
if he could ever find him, and, consequently, he 
would be obliged to go secretly, and bring his wife 
and children away in the night. His means of ac- 
complishing this were his resolution, his two hands 



220 REUNIONS. 

and two feet. Nothing more. He thought if he 
could " borrow " two dollars, he could buy his 
" eatings " by the way ; and hoped to return in a 
week. 

I gave him the desired collar, and the two dollars, 
and advised him by all means to go and find his 
wife and children, if it were possible. Two or three 
weeks had elapsed, and I was beginning to fear he 
had come to grief in some way, when, one morning, 
as I was sitting at the breakfast-table, the door of 
my log-cabin opened, and Richard entered, in a 
very dilapidated condition. His " Sunday clothes " 
were in rags. His boots, which were new and 
glossy when he left, looked as if they had seen 
years of hard service, and his face, so black and 
shining, now had grown thin and pale. 

" I 'se jus' got back wid my life, and dat 's all, 
missus; but I 'se done fotch my wife an' chillun." 

He had found his wife in the same little cabin 
where he left her two years before. She had known 
nothing of freedom, save that her master, while 
exacting her accustomed service, had felt free to 
give her nothing in return, and had been living in 
the constant hope of seeing or hearing from Richard. 
His old master, whose plantation was near that of 
Emmeline's master, had treated him kindly, saying 
to him, " You 've always been a good nigger, Rich- 
ard, and I wish you well. You have a right now to 
your wife and children, but you must get them out 
in the night. There are no Union men in this 



REUNIONS. 221 

neighborhood, and if the neighbors see you, they'll 
shoot you. I give you this shot-gun to defend 
yourself with ; but keep it for your boy, and when 
he grows up, give it to him as a present from me." 

His young master sent him word that he would 
shoot him if he found him on his plantation. Four 
white men, with guns, were lurking about his wife's 
cabin all one night, but he managed to elude them. 

Being thus warned and threatened, he had availed 
himself of the darkness of midnight to lead away 
his little family from the land of their affliction. 
They could take nothing with them but a little bag 
of corn bread for subsistence by the way. The 
daughter, eight years old, walked by the side of her 
mother. The six-year old boy he " toted " all the 
way in his arms. The journey occupied four days, 
and some friendly white people gave them shelter 
at night. 

When the way-worn travellers arrived at our 
camp, " Miss Julia " received them kindly in her 
little cabin ; gave them a share of her ash-cakes 
and corn-dodgers; brought water and bandages for 
poor Emmeline's torn and swollen feet, and lent 
her a dress in which she could appear when she 
came to beg one for herself 

" She had hoped to marry Richard," she said ; 
" but thought he did right in going back to his wife, 
and, as Emmeline had no other husband, she had 
the best right to him." 
19* 



222 REUNIONS. 

It would be pleasant to conclude this sketch by 
drawing a picture of a snug little cabin, with pretty 
flowers in front, and a garden patch of potatoes, 
cabbages, and corn in the rear, such as doubtless 
warmed Richard's imagination and nerved his cour- 
age during those weary and perilous days of tramp- 
ing and adventure. But, alas ! the story of '* man's 
inhumanity to man " continually repeats itself. 
When I returned to the camp, after six months' ab- 
sence, I learned that certain white men, represent- 
ing the law of the land, had taken away all guns from 
colored people, and among them the precious little 
shot-gun that Richard's master had given him for 
his own defence, and an heirloom to his boy. It was 
hard to submit to this new phase of tyranny, and, 
influenced by evil counsellors, Richard, with sev- 
eral others, had made an attempt to recover his 
property. The house containing the guns had been 
broken open, but, in the scuffle that ensued, Rich- 
ard's gun had been broken ; and though no one was 
hurt, he with three or four of his companions was 
arrested, tried by Virginia magistrates, and sentenced 
to ten years in the penitentiary at Richmond. 

Poor Emmeline was struggling along as best she 
could, with the shadow of starvation for herself 
and children ever by her side. 



CHAPTER X. 

LETTERS FROM PETERSBURG, VA., TO JOEL CAD- 
BURY, JR., PHILADELPHIA. 

Petersburg, Va., Jan. 9, 1867. 

Dear Friend. — Since I last wrote, some few 
things have suggested themselves to me which may 
be interesting to the friends who are so kind as to 
send aid to the poor freedmen of the South. There 
are in Petersburg thirteen thousand colored people 
to eight thousand whites. Many of them have 
been doing very well for themselves, buying little 
patches of ground, and building little cabins, and 
making their families quite comfortable. On New 
Year's day, to have seen them marching around the 
city in a procession five thousand strong, with 
banners, gay regalia, and all joyful emblems, cele- 
brating for the second time the anniversary of their 
emancipation, one would think they were in quite 
prosperous circumstances. But there are thousands 
of poor widows, with large families of children, 
who cannot get work, or when they do get wash- 
ing or other work to do, do not always get paid for 
it. There are many old and helpless ones, who 

223 



224 LETTERS TO JOEL CADBURY, JR. 

suffer much with rheumatism and, as they say, " old 
folks' pains." 

There is a hospital near me with about a hundred 
of such cases, and the surgeon in charge told me 
that, until I furnished him with some clothing from 
that you sent me, some of these old people had not 
had a change for a year, and were nearly naked. I 
was of course thankful to be able to furnish them 
some of the nice warm English clothing which you 
had placed at my disposal, and hope most sincerely 
that the blessing of Him who does not forget his 
"poor little ones," may come to the hearts and 
homes of those who sent. Some of the same cloth- 
ing has gone twenty, thirty, and fifty miles into the 
country, the people in the country being still more 
destitute than those in the city. Many of the 
articles in the cask you sent me were precisely 
adapted to the want, being garments for women and 
children, of coarse linsey or flannel, and cotton 
under-garments. But some were of a finer and 
more expensive material than is suitable. 

If you communicate with your friends on the 
subject, I would advise that very little be sent but 
what is coarse and strong. Any articles of luxury 
in the way of clothing, it is better not to give them, 
as these should be the reward of their own labor 
and industry. Books, also, are of very little use, as 
few can read. But whole suits of coarse clothing 
for women and children, including shoes and stock- 



LETTERS TO JOEL CADBURY, JR. 225 

ings, can never come amiss. Gentlemen's cast-off 
clothing is also very acceptable for the old men. 

Last year I spent a good deal of money in pro- 
viding them with garden-seeds and farming utensils, 
as it was impossible for those in the country to get 
them for themselves. This was a great help to 
them, though they say that the owners of the land 
came around in the fall and took away half of 
everything. This was twice as much as they should 
have taken, one-fourth part being the usual allow- 
ance for the land-holders. I hope that these facts 
may be of interest to those who are helping us in 
our endeavors to ameliorate the condition of these 
poor people. 

The field is wide here, and the need very great. 
Up to this date, I have had nothing but what you 
sent, though goods have been sent from New York, 
but are frozen up in the James River, which I hope 
to have in a few days. I am confident there will be 
pressing need of all that can be had ; so that any 
aid you can render in the way of clothing or money, 
I shall be glad to apply as well as I can. The 
winter is unusually severe, with a large quantity of 
snow. For distributing in the country, I shall be 
obliged to depend on the agents of the Bureau, 
who are very kind and humane, and glad to forward 
clothing to the poor. 

One man came from Sussex County, about thirty 
miles distant, bringing a letter from his former 

P 



226 LETTERS TO JOEL CADBURY, JR. 

owner, who was known to and endorsed by Major 
Stone, Superintendent of the District, under the 
Bureau. It stated that he had an invalid wife, five 
small children, and a old father and mother to pro- 
vide for. That he was " a man of most exemplary 
character, sober and industrious habits," and "I do 
not know a single instance of misconduct on his 
part during his life, and he belonged to me many 
years." This was a remarkable case, but similar 
ones are of daily occurrence, where men, with large 
families, are straining every nerve to ** make bread," 
as they express it, for their families, but where 
to buy clothing is out of the question. A great 
number of widows also come, of whom one cannot 
help wondering how they can get bread, in these 
fearfully hard times, for themselves and children. I 
was very glad, also, to be able to supply clothing, 
from these English packages, to many of the chil- 
dren in a school four miles from the city, on the 
Boydtown Plank-road, which I have established on 
my own responsibility. It is in a neighborhood in 
which I have been much interested for a long time, 
and is taught by a young colored woman, who has 
been in training in our schools ever since they were 
established here. It is held in one of the many 
log-houses built by our soldiers during the war, and 
is on land owned by a colored woman. The 
teacher, Eliza Alston, is well qualified to instruct 
them, and I always find the children looking bright 



LETTERS TO JOEL CADBURY, JR. 22/ 

and happy with their books, and the school in just as 
good order as those taught by white teachers. There 
are about seventy in the day-school, ten or twelve in 
the night-school, and a hundred in the Sabbath- 
school. Miss Eliza manages it all herself, conduct- 
ing with perfect propriety and success the singing, 
prayers, and lessons. 

Last Sabbath, I went out to visit the Sabbath- 
school. It was quite wonderful to see them all so 
orderly and happy looking. When I recalled to 
them the great change that had been brought about 
for their race since a few years back, when their 
fathers " did not dare so much as to look on a piece 
of paper as if they knew anything," as they have 
often told me, and to teach a colored person was a 
crime, to be punished by the judge, while now they , 
could sit in the school-house unmolested, with a 
competent teacher of their own color ; and asked 
if any one could tell me to whom they were in- 
debted for this great change in their condition, 
many hands went up, and one little barefooted 
fellow, when called upon to answer, said, " Yankees, 
I reckon ; " while another reckoned it was " the noon- 
ion army." 

I think the kind friends who send these valuable 
gifts of clothing for the naked, may rest assured 
that, in most cases, they are helping those who are 
trying to help themselves. It is very true that 
some of a lazy and vagabond character come to 



228 LETTERS TO JOEL CADBURY, JR. 

beg; but whenever it can be ascertained that they 
are such, they are sent away empty-handed, our 
object being, so far as possible, to stimulate exer- 
tion, but never to encourage idleness. 

In this district of sixteen counties, there are 
thousands of families who are thankfully enjoying 
the benefits of these Christian charities, and taking 
up the great burden that has fallen so suddenly 
upon them, with a cheerful courage. The hoes, 
spades, and garden-seeds have been eagerly sought 
for, and many more could have been distributed 
to advantage. For the want of these useful arti- 
cles, much land in the country will remain uncul- 
tivated. 

Many here told me that their chief dependence 
through the year has been the hoe I gave them last 
spring. 

" She has given me a spade and right smart 
potatoes," said a woman, to-day, " and now I am 
going home and going right to digging." 

Many of the men, as they walk off with their 
spades over their shoulders, a bag of potatoes on 
their heads, garden-seeds in their pockets, and a 
bundle of clothing under their arms, throw back 
from a beaming countenance a glance full of grati- 
tude, saying, " I never shall forget you. Miss Char- 
lotte. I certainly docs hope you '11 rest in the 
Kingdom, when you dies." 



LETTERS TO JOEL CADBURY, JR. 229 

To THE Same. 

Petersburg, Va., April i, 1867. 

Dear Friend. — Your four casks of clothing 
have arrived, and been nearly all distributed, to the 
great comfort and relief of a large number of suffer- 
ing women and children. 

Nothing in the way of gifts to these poor freed- 
women could have been more appropriate than the 
heavy, gray, woollen skirts, and nice warm jackets, 
contained in those packages, and I have distributed 
them with the greatest satisfaction. 

Sixty-five suits of assorted sizes have been sent 
to a hospital of colored people at Farmville, for 
which an urgent requisition had been on hand for 
a long time. Many of the patients there were in a 
suffering condition, having nothing wherewith to 
change the ragged garments which they were 
obliged to wear both night and day. The remainder 
has mostly been given to people coming from the 
country, distances of from five to thirty miles. The 
men generally come from the greater distances, to 
beg for wives and children. The women to whom 
these garments have been given generally come in 
" top-coats," as they call their outside garments of 
tenting, bagging, blankets, or other refuse of the 
camps, from which, as they say, they " got right 
smart of such things ; but the white people came 
round, and made as though they belonged to them. 



230 LETTERS TO JOEL CADBURY, JR. 

and took most of them away." These garments 
having been worn now nearly two years without 
change, are very ragged, or patched in all directions 
with anything that can be had, without reference 
to any relation in color or quality, and often, for 
want of buttons, hooks and eyes, or common pins, 
fastened together in front with smooth splinters of 
wood. If one can get a soldier's blouse, or blue 
cape to cover her shoulders, she is particularly 
fortunate. All the pieces that were invoiced as 
rugs were given, and very thankfully received, for 
shawls. Your last invoice of goods has been a 
very important aid in relieving severe cases of suffer- 
ing, and will be a help and comfort to many for a 
year to come. 

With many thanks, on behalf of the freed people, 
to yourself and the friends who have so generously 
co-operated with me, 

I remain, yours truly, 

C. E. McKay. 

Mr. Joel Cadbury, Phila. 



THE END. 



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